Letting Go
by CastlePhoenix
Summary: Donna Noble is offered a job by Hard Rock Casino, Las Vegas and finds herself the agent of one Peter Vincent. But is he who she thinks he is? When Rose Tyler and Martha Jones stumble into the situation can the trio release the Doctor before it's too late? Crossover with Fright Night.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story contains characters from both Doctor Who and Fright Night. Naturally, the usual disclaimers apply. This story arose after the hype of the 50th Anniversary episode and a bizarre number of showings of Fright Night on free-to-air television. My sincere thanks to _LastIncureableRomantic_ who has read several of the chapters in advance and subsequently took the time to give me invaluable feedback on them. That's about all I've got say, except I hope you enjoy this tale!

* * *

**Letting Go**

_Chapter 1_

Donna Noble was a temp from Chiswick. Undeniably, if she did say so herself, she was the _best_ temp in Chiswick with her 100 words per minute but she was still a _temp_. Donna Noble didn't get impromptu job offers from high profile entertainment companies based in Las Vegas, Nevada. Said job offers didn't include her first pay bundle up front regardless of whether or not she committed to the job and they certainly didn't overlook the fact that she had absolutely no experience as an agent in the entertainment industry. This didn't explain why Donna Noble had accepted the enclosed plane ticket – business class – and was currently in transit to Las Vegas.

As she reclined in the ridiculously luxurious seat, her legs casually occupying the ludicrous amount of space "business class" warranted, she reflected once more upon her decision to accept the job. She'd surprised herself, despite the four-digit enticement that had accompanied the offer, by taking a little over a week to come to a decision. Hard Rock – the company which had offered her the position – seemed to have no qualms with the delay and had happily informed her that the job was waiting for her regardless. It had certainly sounded dodgy and at one point Donna had almost decided it wasn't worth the risk. Her mother, Sylvia, had been particularly vocal about the absurdity of an _American_ company hiring _Donna_ out of the blue though and that had sealed the deal for her. She wanted to prove her mother wrong and perhaps for once earn something more than disdain from Sylvia Noble. Deep down she knew her mother was struggling with her husband's death but there was a limit to Donna's sympathy. After all, Geoffrey Noble had been her _father_.

Donna rubbed the wretched tear that was threatening to fall out of her eye. It wouldn't do to dwell on her dad at the moment. He was gone now and it was up to Donna to sort her life out for herself. Besides, she still had Gramps rooting for her even if she was flying 5000 miles away from him. Wilf had been the lone voice of reason the past week, counselling her to find out what she could about the job and helping her to establish that it was indeed a legitimate offer before telling her not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd noted the change in his granddaughter since the disaster that had been her wedding day and he knew that she was out there looking for someone. Donna smiled fondly as she reflected on Wilf's final words of wisdom, whispered as he'd hugged her goodbye at the Heathrow terminal.

'_Just you wait Donna, for all you know he's over there in Las Vegas_.'

She'd smiled properly at that but as it was well over a year since she'd turned that ridiculous "spaceman" down somehow she doubted he'd be waiting for her in Vegas. Still, she couldn't help but hope and if there was one thing the bizarre job offer promised, it was an adventure.

'Would you like a warm towel, ma'am?'

Donna frowned at the air stewardess.

'And just what would I do with a warm towel, hmm?'

The air stewardess seemed rather taken aback by her sarcasm and struggled to come up with a suitable reply.

'I'm fine, thanks,' Donna offered more kindly, taking pity on the poor girl. 'I don't normally travel business class,' she admitted self-deprecatingly.

The girl smiled, accepting the peace offering.

'I've never quite grasped why we offer warm towels,' she told Donna conspiratorially, slotting the damp flannel back in her trolley. 'Is there anything else I can get you, ma'am?'

'I'd murder a cup of tea if you've got one around somewhere,' Donna whispered, certain that ordering tea in business class was rather tame. 'English Breakfast? Milk, no sugar please.'

'Of course,' the stewardess agreed easily. 'I'll be right back.'

Donna watched as the stewardess disappeared off to fetch the tea finally returning her attention to the laptop she'd been neglecting. She'd avoided looking up her client so far, not quite believing that she was specifically being sought out to act as the man's agent, but now that she was halfway across the Atlantic she realised she really needed to know as much as possible about him before she landed. Pulling up the search engine she hesitantly typed in his name: _Peter Vincent_.

Over 73 million hits were summoned by her search but she settled for the official site first. At least that way she would be able to assume fifty percent of what she read was probably the truth. The website was undoubtedly supposed to appear enticing but to Donna it looked like the creator had gone more than a little over the top with the special effects. She skipped the introduction sequence – honestly it was like PowerPoint on steroids – and finally arrived at the home screen. A man dressed in leather stared back at her and for the first time Donna seriously considered that she'd really made a mistake in accepting the job. It seemed her client was an expert on Vampires.

'Well, isn't that _wizard_,' Donna mumbled under her breath.

Just what had she been thinking going into this blind? She should have looked Peter Vincent up the moment she'd been offered the job. He was clearly an illusionist – Donna refused to consider he might actually believe in vampires – his show based on cheap tricks and special effects. As she flicked through the website she read the incredibly brief "About _The_ Peter Vincent" – did he honestly refer to himself as the definitive article? – and scrolled through the record of his past work. He'd supposedly had a previous show – _Vampiric_ – which had been a sell out in New York but there was very little information about it. Opening another tab she searched "_Peter Vincent Vampiric_" and got less than a 100 hits. Frowning she typed in her client's current show "_Fright Night_", her eyebrows rising in disbelief as she got over 50 million hits. Perhaps the website had recorded the previous show incorrectly, she thought briefly as she scrolled down the page to see when the website had last been updated. It had been updated less than a week ago by _BadWolfCo_ – one of Peter Vincent's sponsors – but Donna was surprised to note the website itself appeared to be only 3 months old.

'Here you are ma'am.'

Donna was pulled from her thoughts as the air stewardess returned with a small tray containing a tea set. The girl set them down beside Donna's laptop her gaze inadvertently falling on the open webpage.

'Are you going to see Peter Vincent?' the stewardess asked excitedly.

If the girl's reaction was anything to go by she was apparently a bit of a fan. Donna Noble decided it was time to slip into "detective mode".

'Yes, I'm hoping to catch the show while I'm in Vegas. Have you been?'

'Oh yes!' the girl gushed. 'I had a stopover the other week in Vegas and some of my girlfriends were in town and treated me to the show. It was spectacular. I'm hoping to go again. Peter Vincent's amazing. It's like he really _knows_, you know? And he's costume! Well it's more than a little _you know_.' She broke off, giving Donna a suggestive look that she undoubtedly expected her to inherently understand.

'Oh _I know_,' Donna agreed convincingly. 'I wish I'd heard about him sooner!'

'You know I thought the same,' the air stewardess continued freely, oblivious to Donna's deception. 'Couldn't believe I hadn't heard of him before last month, I'd have gone to _Vampiric_ if I'd known! Apparently in that show the vampires almost tore his leather pants to shreds with their teeth. Can you imagine!? I'd give _anything_ to have been one of those vampire girls.'

'Mhmm,' Donna hummed.

'Those girls are more than lucky,' the stewardess added dreamily. 'They say Peter's particularly _friendly_ towards the girls he works with.'

Donna didn't miss the double meaning.

'Anyway, enjoy the show,' the stewardess gushed. 'I best get back to work.'

She smiled friendlily at Donna before hurrying down the aisle to a harassed business man who seemed to be struggling with the TV in the back of his seat. Donna watched her go before returning her attention to her laptop screen. Peter Vincent stared back at her, his brown eyes boring into her as though he wasn't just an image on a screen. There was something about him that seemed familiar; a niggling sensation that she'd met this man before. Donna was certain though that she'd certainly have remembered a skinny strip of leather clad nothing, tattooed Vampire Slayer with far too much hair and a rather ridiculous goatee if she ever had run into him before. Rolling her eyes at the strange sensation that she knew Peter Vincent, she shut her laptop down. It was dark outside the plane and she wanted to get some rest. Besides if even half of what she'd read about Peter Vincent was true – and if the stewardess was to be believed – she was going to have her work cut out for her. Peter Vincent sounded like a walking PR disaster waiting to happen; a _male_ one at that and one who sounded a little _too_ friendly for Donna's liking. Reclining her chair back, Donna let herself drift off to sleep. Peter Vincent was a problem for tomorrow.

o0o

Las Vegas was everything and nothing like Donna had expected. She'd been met at the airport by a pompous Hard Rock official who'd seemed to take immediate personal offence to her accent. The man had scowled the entire trip to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino and Donna had been relieved to see the back of him. He was the lawyer from Hard Rock who'd been charged with overseeing her contract. Thankfully his job was simply to witness the forms as she signed onto the contract and it was unlikely she'd have to interact with the man again in the foreseeable future. He'd left in a huff rudely informing her that she would be escorted up to Peter Vincent's penthouse later that evening once the show was over. Donna had taken great pleasure in shutting the door in the lawyer's face before turning to inspect the apartment that was now hers for the time being.

Her contract lasted six months, subject to renewal, and depended entirely upon Peter Vincent's plans for the future. For the moment he seemed content to continue in Las Vegas for some time but Donna doubted the City of Sin would hold the man's attention forever. There was plenty of time for contemplation later though, Donna thought tiredly. For now she simply wanted to sleep. She knew she should try and fight the jet lag for a little longer, given it was half-four in the afternoon, but with the prospect of having to face Peter Vincent later that night she wanted to be as refreshed as possible. After all she'd be spending the next six months working for him.

She sought out the luxurious bathroom immediately and spent half an hour standing under the high-pressure shower as she washed away the grime of travel. The ten hour flight had left her feeling filthy and had reminded her yet again why she disliked air travel. Thankfully the bellboy had already bought up her suitcases and it was with relief Donna pulled on her pyjamas and sank into the wonderfully plush mattress of her King size bed. She had just enough foresight to organise with the concierge for a wake-up call at 9pm before she succumbed to sleep.

o0o

Despite her initial chagrin at being woken Donna was glad she'd organised to be woken at nine. It gave her just enough time to order a light meal from room service and to freshen up before she met Peter Vincent. Searching through her suitcase Donna pulled on one of her smarter pantsuits. She didn't want for there to be any miscommunication between her and Peter Vincent. As far as Donna was concerned, she'd been hired to act as his agent – via Hard Rock – and she intended to _manage_ Peter Vincent. If any of the press clippings she'd read were even the slightest bit true she was going to have her hands full with this man and she intended to lay down the law from the beginning. There would be _no_ funny business where Donna Noble was concerned.

She was paging through a travel guide book she'd found on the coffee table when the knock finally came at her door. It was past eleven and Donna was annoyed. She'd been told Peter's show finished at ten and that she had been scheduled to see him at half ten. Grabbing the thick dark red folder which had been sent up to her by the concierge – outlining Peter Vincent's commitments for the next six months – she stalked towards the door, opening it sharply. A young woman stood before her clad in an incredibly skimpy black satin night gown.

'Donna Noble?' she inquired disinterestedly.

Donna glanced over the girl taking in the dyed hair – a drab almost ginger colour although her dark roots were obvious – the manicured nails and the residue of stage make-up. She was a petite girl and clearly fit.

'Mr Vincent's assistant I take it?' Donna answered carefully. If this girl did indeed work for Peter Vincent it meant Donna would be spending a fair amount of time with her and she didn't particularly want to spend the next six months feuding with the young woman if it could be helped. She appeared to be rather annoyed that she'd been sent to fetch Donna.

'_Mister_ Vincent,' she scoffed in disbelief, laughing slightly as though she found the title ridiculous. 'He's no _mister_. And I'm not his fucking assistant, if that's what he told you. Fucking douchebag. I'm his _girlfriend_ if he isn't too busy fucking every other girl he meets.'

She spoke with a heavy accent and Donna wondered if she was Italian. Regardless, she appeared to be very upset with Peter Vincent. Despite the make-up she couldn't be much older than 25, Donna thought sadly. Now that she'd said her piece the girl was rubbing surreptitiously at her eyes, clearly attempting not to cry.

'What's your name?' Donna asked gently, ushering the young girl into her room as she sought out some tissues.

'Ginger.'

Donna plucked several tissues from the box and turned back to "Ginger". She handed them over silently, glancing pointedly at the dark roots obvious in the girl's hair.

'And was it always Ginger?' she asked gently, sitting herself down next to the upset girl.

The girl eyed her suspiciously for a moment before wiping away the tears and the remnants of her stage make up.

'No,' she admitted quietly. 'But that's what _he_ calls me. It's what they all call me.'

Donna didn't need to ask who "he" was.

'I don't care what _he_ calls you.'

Ginger looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting such an adamant statement. The young girl looked Donna over carefully for a few moments before she relaxed. It seemed she'd found a kindred spirit in Donna – after all Donna had had her fair share of disastrous work relationships and that wasn't even counting the fiasco with Lance.

'Francesca Russo.'

'That's a beautiful name,' Donna said genuinely.

'_Grazie_.'

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Francesca carefully wiping away her tears before she spoke up.

'I'm sorry it's so late,' she explained hurriedly. 'The show finished a little late and then _he_ was distracted by one of his fans. He should be done by now; he lasts less than ten minutes,' she added bitterly.

Donna frowned at the clear insinuation.

'Why are you with him Francesca?'

It was a blunt question but genuine. Francesca seemed surprised and for a moment Donna realised she might have overstepped the boundary with her new acquaintance but the girl shrugged and answered.

'Love?' she supplied simply, although it sounded like a question and if the girl's tumultuous expression was anything to go by it clearly wasn't a straight forward answer. 'Or at least a green card I hope. You wouldn't pick it but my _boyfriend_ has US citizenship.'

Francesca wiped once more at her tears before getting up and binning her used tissues.

'We should go up,' she said. 'He gets impatient.'

'We'll go up when you're ready,' Donna replied breezily. 'Perhaps he might learn to keep to his appointments this way.'

Francesca laughed.

'You have spirit Ms Noble. I like you.'

'Thank you,' Donna replied cheerfully. 'And it's Donna.'

'Well Donna, would you like to meet _Mr Vincent_?'

Donna chuckled at the use of "Mister", collecting her folder from the coffee table before gesturing for Francesca to lead the way. Peter Vincent lived in the penthouse one floor above Donna's own apartment. If she hadn't read around and realised that Peter had the potential to be an incredibly liable client she'd have questioned the amount of money Hard Rock were spending on her. As it was, she was beginning to wonder if the luxury apartment would be enough to keep her in Vegas for six months.

As the lift opened to the private penthouse Donna got her first insight into Peter Vincent's life. Her first thought was _extravagance_. The huge room bespoke a wealth Donna had never before personally encountered. Her second thought was _absolute nutter_. The grand entrance to his living quarters was set out like a museum with dozens of glass cases containing artefacts. She didn't have to look very long to realise that all of the artefacts were to do with vampires and other supernatural beings. Just from the entrance way alone she could see a dozen stakes not to mention several hand guns nestled in amongst silver bullets.

'He's obsessed,' Donna observed candidly, absolutely thrown by the bizarre collection. 'Properly obsessed with vampires.'

Beside her Francesca snorted.

'Didn't they mention that in the job description?'

'Can't say they did,' Donna murmured, unable to stop herself from looking in some of the cases.

'Don't touch,' Francesca warned. 'He's pissy about this stuff.'

Donna stopped her hand just short of selecting one of the books off the bookshelf that lined the room. She glanced at Francesca and realised she wasn't joking. Stepping away from the books she nodded towards the other end of the room.

'In there is he?'

Francesca shrugged.

'If he's not passed out in the bedroom.'

Donna nodded sharply before turning and making her way further into the penthouse. It was time to meet Peter Vincent. As she stepped into the next room Donna let out an involuntary gasp in awe as she caught sight of the view. Floor to ceiling windows offered a magnificent view of the city, the lights of the various casinos and hotels startlingly innocent as they inhabited the skyline. This was a different side to Las Vegas, hidden from the majority of visitors who passed through the sleepless city.

Finally she drew her gaze away from the outside world and looked around the room. She raised an eyebrow as she caught sight of the extravagant fireplace set incongruously in the middle of the room, burning cheerfully and unattended. To her left there was a kitchen that looked much more like a bar and had clearly been used recently. To her right there was a bank of couches around an enormous wall-mounted flat screen television. Peter Vincent was conspicuously absent though. She turned to ask Francesca where he was but found herself alone in the room.

The sound of a toilet flushing rang out in the silence; somewhere off to the right and out of sight. It was a few minutes more before Peter Vincent appeared.

He was wearing a loose black satin robe – much like Francesca's – that left very little to the imagination. The stage make-up was gone and with it the hair that had so clearly been a wig now that Donna thought back on it. Surprisingly the beard and the side-burns were gone too but there was no mistaking the man who stood before her now. He was fiddling with the loop of his gown as he stepped into the room before he realised he was no longer alone. The moment she met his gaze Donna knew without a doubt that he was exactly who she thought he was. They were the same brown eyes that had begged her to come with him two Christmases ago.

'So you finally decided to accept my job offer Donna Noble.'

'Doctor?'


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Peter Vincent let out a laugh as he sauntered into his kitchen – an area that was clearly more of a bar than a place for food preparation. He poured himself a shot of Midori, completely oblivious to Donna's surprise.

'Really Donna?' he questioned. 'You know better than most that _that_ degree is as fake as they come. I borrowed _your_ credit card to order it off fucking eBay.'

He laughed again, as though it were some inside joke that Donna would get.

'I don't know what planet you think you're on sunshine but you've certainly never borrowed my credit card,' Donna snapped.

She was angry and confused. All that time she'd spent looking for the Doctor and he'd been here in Las Vegas all along. And not only that, he'd been Peter _bloody_ Vincent the entire time. Her statement seemed to amuse the man further and he poured himself another shot of Midori before swaggering over to sit in the wing-backed armchair. He leered slightly at Donna's disgusted expression as he positioned himself obscenely on the chair. Her only solace was that he'd thankfully remembered to pull on a pair of boxer briefs under the gown.

'So,' he suggested matter-of-factly, gesturing for Donna to sit down in one of the vacant chairs. 'You're angry I blew you off for a shag. What can I say? It was a damn good fuck.'

Donna scowled.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' she demanded angrily.

'I offer you a job and _this_ is the thanks I get?' he pouted, ignoring her question as he sipped at the drink.

'What happened to seeing the universe?' she asked incredulously. 'Travelling through time and space as you please?'

He looked at her as though she were mad.

'Are you drunk?'

His amusement at the idea was clear which only served to anger Donna further. Standing she stalked towards the sink and selected the largest receptacle she could find – which happened to be a wine glass – filled it to the brim with water and stormed back over to the man. He was laughing right up until she threw the water in his face.

'What the _fuck_, Donna!?' he roared, jumping out of his seat in alarm and spilling his own drink all over him in his haste. He glared angrily at her but she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by the man before her.

'Fuck you!' he cursed, hurling his empty cup towards the fireplace when he realised she wasn't going to back down. The words had barely slipped past his mouth before Donna's hand made contact with his cheek.

_Crack!_

'Owww,' he howled, jumping away from Donna and nearly losing his footing in his haste to put the wing-backed chair between them. 'What was that for?' he complained, rubbing his cheek.

For a moment he sounded more like his old self but the illusion was shattered as he continued to scowl at her, muttering furiously under his breath as he complained about his injury.

'Swear at me again _spaceman_ and it won't be your cheek that's stinging,' she warned.

He seemed to take her threat seriously and he eyed her warily before finally returning to his seat. She followed suit and sat down herself.

'I don't see why you're so mad,' he groused. 'I got you a job, didn't I?'

'Since when do you do "jobs", Doctor?' Donna demanded. 'You wouldn't even stay for Christmas dinner you were in that much of a hurry to leave!'

'What are you talking about?' he asked in confusion. 'You've never asked me to Christmas dinner before!'

'Yes I have, dumbo,' she replied slowly, staring at him as though he were a moron. 'Right after I met you. My wedding day,' she prompted when he still appeared nonplussed.

'Donna I met you at _school_,' he replied confusedly. 'You definitely weren't getting married when we first met. I'm pretty sure it's illegal back home to get married that young,' he added as an afterthought.

Donna stared at him. Properly looked at him for the first time since she'd arrived – and what she saw scared her. The man before her had the Doctor's face but that seemed to be all. It was as though someone had crossed the wires by mistake and she was talking to a complete stranger.

'Doctor, what's going on?' she asked quietly. 'You're scaring me.'

'Why do you keep calling me that?' the man demanded, storming back to the bar. He contemplated his options for a moment before simply picking up the Midori bottle and returning to his seat. He took a long swig from the bottle, eyes boring into Donna as he awaited her answer.

'It's your name,' Donna breathed shakily. She really was out of her depth here.

'I think I know my own name, _darl_,' he drawled.

'Peter Vincent?' Donna hazarded unsurely. 'That's your real name?'

'The one and only,' he smirked as he took an extravagant bow from his seat, the Midori bottle sloshing over slightly in his enthusiasm.

Donna simply stared, completely unamused by his performance. The longer she looked the more she began to doubt that this was the same man she'd been searching for. Physically, he looked the same but it was as though someone had stripped him bare; taken out everything that had made him _the Doctor_ and just left behind a few bits in the hopes that no one would really notice. Peter Vincent seemed to _know_ her but to Donna, he was a complete stranger and utterly alien.

'You know what,' she said tiredly, unable to hide the disappointment and defeat she felt as she reached her decision. 'I'm going home. I spent all that time looking for you and turns out I was mistaken. You're not who I thought you were at all.'

Peter Vincent stared at her – his surprise and hurt evident – but she was almost out of the door before he decided to stop her. There was a brief kerfuffle before Peter managed to get himself between Donna and the doorway.

'Donna, _please_,' he pleaded, refusing to let her pass. 'I don't know what I've done and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I need someone. I need _you_. Who else is going to remind me when I've gone too far?'

The words struck a chord with her and for just one moment Donna was positive that it was _the Doctor_ looking determinedly at her, begging her to give him a second chance.

'Why me?' she asked suspiciously.

'You're my best friend Donna,' he began pointedly, as though she should know this without him having to say it. 'Well my only friend really,' he amended when she continued to appear unconvinced. 'I know you don't _need_ my help but I thought you'd appreciate the job offer. Hard Rock forced me into getting an agent and you're the only person I want. And I promise, if it doesn't work out you can walk away – no strings attached – but you'll have the job on your résumé and I'll give you a glowing reference regardless.'

She still looked unconvinced. Throwing caution to the wind Peter Vincent knelt before her. He really wasn't above begging when it came to ensuring Donna Noble remained in Las Vegas.

'_Please_ Donna. I'll go mad here by myself. No one knows how to make a proper cup of tea.'

Donna considered him for a long moment. She looked at this stranger kneeling before her, in his stupid little satin gown, and wondered if she could do it. Peter Vincent was _not_ the Doctor but it was clear that somewhere inside this strange man the Doctor was there. Somehow Donna was going to get him out. She had no idea how it had happened but she was certain now that the Doctor had gotten himself into a mess and if there was one thing Donna Noble knew how to do – it was solve a problem.

Leaning down she fisted the top of his gown and hurled him to his feet. She pulled him closer for a second and didn't miss the lecherous look that crossed his face as he entertained some kind of bizarre fantasy, spurred on by her close proximity. It was a harsh reminder that this man's mind lived in the gutter. She shoved him away a little more roughly than she'd intended and glared pointedly at him, hopefully preventing any further thoughts or ideas from taking root in said gutter mind.

'You're drunk,' she proclaimed decisively, having received an incredibly strong whiff of alcohol as she'd pulled him close. 'We'll talk about this in the morning, Vampire boy.'

The name came easily and it meant she didn't have to think of him as "Peter Vincent" or "Doctor". He didn't seem to mind and smirked knowingly at her as he stumbled away from the doorway, granting her access to the lift. As she stepped into the lift she turned to face him once more.

'And I'm nobody's tea girl,' she declared.

The lift doors snapped shut in Peter's face and Donna indulged in a satisfied smirk as she celebrated having the last word.

o0o

Come mid-morning, Donna was beginning to regret her decision to stay. Peter Vincent was turning out to be the most infuriating person she'd ever dealt with. Courtesy of her jet lag she'd woken early but she'd put the extra time to good use by phoning her Gramps. Wilf didn't know exactly what had happened the day Donna had almost gotten married but he understood enough to listen to her mad story. It did help that her Gramps had a tendency towards believing in the improbable. He'd listened to her story about finding the person she'd been looking for and had listened to her pour her heart out about how "different" he was now from the man she'd first met. Wilf didn't pretend to understand what Donna meant by "different" but he did know that his granddaughter was confused and disappointed. After all was said and done though he'd simply asked her if she was ready to give up on _him_ yet and Donna had known the answer to that question immediately. She wasn't ready to give up on the Doctor, not when she suspected he'd somehow lost his way.

Donna didn't profess to understand the Doctor's lifestyle completely and she was certainly still sceptical of "alien" threats – replica of Titanic over London? Come on – but she did know when things weren't right. And things were certainly _off_ with Peter Vincent. When she'd searched him up on the internet she'd been surprised by how little information there was on him before a certain point in time. He really _had_ simply appeared out of nowhere one day. Peter Vincent hadn't existed before the 26th December 2007 but somehow from that day on, he'd slotted himself into the world and nobody had ever questioned his arrival. Donna was certain this was because up until that point he'd been the Doctor. She really knew next to nothing about aliens but the entire situation screamed extra-terrestrial involvement to her. Somehow some_thing_ had convinced the Doctor that he was Peter Vincent. Donna Noble was determined to reverse the process.

Once she'd rung off with her Gramps she'd decided that she needed to find the Doctor's spaceship. If there was one thing that would help her sort this mess it was the wooden blue police box. She knew it couldn't be far off because Peter Vincent had never been sighted outside of Las Vegas. His website might speak of a show in New York but Donna had done enough digging to realise that although people were aware of the event no one actually remembered _going_ to the event, let alone _seeing_ Peter Vincent. With that thought in mind she'd set out from her hotel to comb the surrounding streets for some sign of the blue box. She'd spent a few hours out on the streets before admitting defeat and returning to her apartment for breakfast.

She'd expected Peter to come calling after breakfast, considering their conversation the previous evening, but as time continued to tick on she began to suspect he wasn't going to appear anytime soon. Irritated, she'd made the trek back up to his ridiculous penthouse. Francesca was by the bar wearing very little once again and snacking on some fruit she'd clearly ordered from room service. The man of the house was nowhere to be seen.

'Where is he?' Donna asked resignedly, pulling up a stool across from Francesca. How was it that this girl felt so comfortable wearing so little, she wondered absentmindedly as she helped herself to a handful of grapes.

'He wore himself out,' the girl replied disinterestedly. Donna didn't need to ask what they'd been up to that morning but it infuriated her that she'd spent the morning trying to fix the Doctor's problems whilst he'd been upstairs "mucking around".

She let out a sigh and instead turned her attention to familiarising herself with Peter's schedule. At the rate the morning was progressing so far Donna wondered how the man had coped without an agent previously. He was apparently due downstairs for an interview with his head choreographer in half an hour; one that he was going to miss if he didn't wake up soon. She was just contemplating sending Francesca in to wake him – there was no way Donna was setting foot in that man's bedroom _ever_ – when she heard the shower start up. Francesca heard it too and let out a frustrated huff. Donna raised her eyebrow but the girl didn't comment. Ten minutes later the water shut off.

'Ginger!'

The obnoxious summons came from the bedroom and not a moment later the man himself appeared in the main room. He was dressed as he had been the previous evening, although his hair was damp from his shower. His eyes flitted over Donna briefly, acknowledging her presence but he said nothing as he stalked towards his fireplace. He started the fire with a casual flare before draping himself carelessly into one of his chairs.

'Midori me,' he commanded lazily, leering at Ginger.

'Midori yourself, douchebag.'

'Fuck you,' he groused.

'I _will_ fuck myself,' the girl replied immediately, her tone fiery with rage. 'Someone's gotta do it.'

With that Ginger stormed from the room, ignoring the obscene gesture Peter made as she passed him. The sound of the elevator doors closing rang out in the stony silence that was left in her wake. The outburst went someway to explaining Francesca's foul mood and Donna caught herself wondering yet again why the girl was still with Peter. Her attention was returned to Peter though as he let out an irritated huff before prising himself out of his chair and stalking towards the bar. He reached for the new bottle of Midori but Donna was faster, pulling it away from him before he could get his hands on it.

'I don't think so _Vampire boy_,' she declared incredulously. 'It's not even ten yet.'

For a minute Donna thought he was going to swear at her, he certainly looked angry enough but at the last moment he seemed to recall what had happened the last time he'd sworn at her. He rubbed his cheek sourly, looking very much like a put out five-year old.

'You can't tell me when I can and can't drink!'

'Oh I very much _can_,' Donna replied smugly. 'It's in the contract.'

'There is no _fucking_ way I put a clause in that contract about Midori,' Peter spluttered, attempting to snatch the bottle back from Donna.

'No,' Donna replied easily, 'but you did sign _your_ name on the dotted line to have _me_ act in your best interests and since you're due downstairs in ten minutes for a meeting with your head choreographer it's in _your_ best interests to be sober. I don't stand for drinking on the job.'

Peter gaped at her for a moment before realising that he really wasn't going to win this argument. With a petulant glare he deliberately leaned over Donna and selected a pear from the fruit basket before stalking back to his chair. She watched as he slouched into the chair, sulking as he ate his pear. He was like an overgrown child, she thought bleakly; one who was far too used to getting his own way. By the time she managed to herd him downstairs for his meeting she was about ready to pull her hair out. It was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

It had been a _long_ month.

Several times Donna had come very close to walking away but she'd made it to the end of February. She could do this. Whether or not she could do it _without_ murdering Peter remained to be seen though. He absolutely infuriated her, without fail, almost every time she encountered him but she wasn't going to give up on him because Peter Vincent was a lie. His memories – and everything that _he_ thought was _his _life – was in reality, fiction. Donna just didn't have the heart to tell him.

During the first few days she'd worked for him, she'd managed to piece together the reality that Peter had constructed to explain their acquaintance. It had taken a fair amount of cajoling to get the story from him because from Peter's perspective, Donna had lived through the events herself. Now a month into her time in Las Vegas, Donna was fairly comfortable with the back story Peter had concocted. She'd never gone to school at "The Academy" nor had she spent her university years emailing Peter after he'd moved to America. Those were the easy lies to tell. It didn't take skill to laugh along at Peter's "old school jokes" or reminisce about "English with Mrs Buckley". Peter believed it had happened and Donna simply went along with it. Occasionally he'd look at her strangely, wondering why she'd forgotten such an important detail of their lives together but it was never enough to make him doubt his memories.

The hardest lies to tell were those that pertained to the significant events in Peter's life. There was a day in Peter's life when his world had gone to hell. It was the day that mattered most to him and it was the reason Peter counted Donna as his most trusted friend. Because as far as he was concerned it was the day _Donna_ had been there for him when no one else had. Something had happened on that day that had devastated him but he had never once elaborated on what had occurred. The one time he'd alluded to the day he'd been very drunk and very upset about something. Donna had no idea what had set him off but as she'd helped him to his room he'd rambled on about the number of times she'd been there for him. Foremost in his thoughts had been "the day" but by that point Donna hadn't had the heart to tell him that she'd had no idea what he was talking about.

After that, she'd never had the courage to question him further about _that_ day. Whatever had happened had traumatised him but she'd convinced herself that it was simply part of Peter's back story. Fiction, like everything else he believed. The hard truth was that no matter how real it seemed to Peter it _hadn't_ happened to the Doctor and that was the crux of the matter for Donna: separating the Doctor from Peter Vincent.

As had become a frustratingly regular occurrence, Donna once more found herself cleaning up after Peter Vincent. The day had not started well and it seemed to be determined to progress in a similar fashion for its entirety. Not only had Peter been late for his first meeting of the day but he'd turned up drunk. Until three days ago he'd been surprisingly compliant with her requirements for sobriety whilst working. Well, mostly sober. Now though, he seemed to have lost the plot spectacularly.

Two evenings ago he'd drunk himself into a complete stupor which had meant the management were forced to cancel that night's showing of _Fright Night_. Donna had been absolutely furious as she'd had to spend most of that night and the following morning making promise after promise that it wouldn't happen again as she placated his various sponsors and the management at Hard Rock. Of course the entire time she'd been running damage control he'd been passed out in his bedroom, oblivious to the mayhem he'd brought down upon Donna. She almost would have forgiven him if she hadn't gone up to check on him mid-afternoon and found him pouring himself a drink the moment he'd woken up.

The row that had followed had been colossal and Donna had been _very_ close to leaving for good that afternoon. They'd both said a _lot_ of things that probably needed to be unsaid at some point before he'd stormed into his bedroom and started hurling clothes out of his room. It was only then that Donna had learnt that Ginger had left him: for good. He'd seemed genuinely devastated by Ginger's decision and once he'd stopped trying to destroy all of her remaining possessions he'd broken down in his bedroom. Donna had let him cry it out before sending him downstairs to get ready for the night's performance. She wasn't sure why she was so surprised when she found him leading two blondes upstairs the night after his dumping. Francesca, who'd been standing by Donna, had simply rolled her eyes at the sight before collecting her papers and bidding Donna goodnight.

The fact that he'd seemingly gotten over Francesca so quickly left Donna bewildered as to why his behaviour continued to remain so destructive today. Throughout the tech rehearsal that afternoon he'd hurled abuse liberally and several of the special effects assistants had begged her to have a word with him before the show that evening. Donna really wasn't looking forward to that task. She'd been looking for him for a good twenty minutes now and it was only when she stumbled into the back alley outside the stage door – quite by accident – that she finally caught up with him.

He was still dressed in costume, sprawled on the fire escape steps as he smoked something that looked suspiciously like a joint to Donna. He looked up as she approached, smirking at being caught out. The grin didn't reach his eyes though and Donna knew then that something was up.

'Angel wrapped me a few last night. Wanna puff?' he asked idly, obnoxiously exhaling into Donna's face as he offered her the joint.

'No?' he continued when she refused to rise to the bait, simply seating herself beside him on the step. 'That's ok, more for me.'

Peter continued to smoke the joint, occasionally glancing over at Donna as she sat silently beside him. He'd finally gotten bored of attempting to entice a reaction from her – by blowing smoke rings at her – when Donna finally spoke up.

'What's going on in that head of yours Vampire boy?' she asked sadly. She was tired of constantly being at odds with him.

'I don't know anymore,' he murmured quietly. He was looking at her but in that moment he seemed a million miles away. Something was clearly troubling him.

'Well I don't think _that's _going to help,' Donna stated, nodding pointedly at the joint he still clutched.

'No,' he agreed dismally, 'but it helps me forget.'

He took a long drag on the joint before letting it fall from his fingers. Lazily he stubbed it out, grinding it purposefully into a pulp. Donna watched him silently, he looked so troubled. She let out an exaggerated sigh before deliberately putting her dark red folder to the side. Reaching over she pulled him into her side. He stiffened for a moment in surprise before relaxing and allowing his head to come to rest upon her shoulder. They sat like that for a moment – Donna's arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders – before she spoke.

'Want to talk about it?'

It wasn't a demand, just an offer to be his friend and listen. It was something Peter needed.

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' he murmured quietly. Donna jumped a little in surprise as he broke the silence that had stretched out steadily between them. She'd assumed he wasn't going to answer.

She shrugged slightly as she considered his words. 'Try me,' was all she said.

'I keep having these dreams,' he began slowly. 'It's fucking mental...but I keep dreaming that I'm someone else...this _man_ who travels through the universe.'

Donna's breath caught at his words. It was the first time Peter had mentioned something that was directly related to the Doctor. She kept quiet though, unwilling to spook him as he opened up to her.

'Everything about him is destructive...his life is full of war and blood and terror. Entire planets have burnt before him and he simply walks away..._he's_ not even human,' Peter finished despondently.

'"He?"'

'"_The Doctor_,"' Peter grumbled. 'That's what he calls himself: a man who heals. It's all a lie though; he has _so much_ blood on his hands. He _knows _it too. It's why he _always_ runs away.'

Peter broke off for a moment.

'_That's_ the character I've dreamed up,' he finished poignantly, his gaze fixed on the ground.

The pair descended into silence as Donna mulled over his words. It was clear Peter had no love for the man he was in his dreams but his words gave Donna hope. The Doctor was still there somewhere, locked away in Peter's dreams. She worried for Peter though. Regardless of where the Doctor was the man before her believed he truly was Peter Vincent. And Peter Vincent was terrified by the "character" he'd dreamed up. Donna couldn't help but wonder if Peter's terror was greater because he somehow knew the Doctor was him. Did the Doctor truly despise himself that much, she wondered sadly.

'How fucked up is that?' Peter murmured into the silence, letting out a breath as he pulled away from Donna.

He looked vulnerable as he waited for her to say something. His eyes were full of hope and fear. Hope that she wouldn't dismiss him as mad and fear that she'd believe his story. She offered him a small smile.

'Maybe you should try writing these dreams down in a notebook or something?' she suggested. 'It might help you put it all together.'

He looked sceptical. 'I'm not a bloody basket case.'

'I never said you were,' Donna replied calmly. 'But maybe it's your subconscious' way of telling you something?'

He snorted. 'Reminding me how much I hate myself?' he suggested self-deprecatingly.

She shook her head sadly. Peter had so little faith in himself.

'I think it's much more likely that it's your subconscious reminding you to do as your manager says,' she replied smugly, opting for levity.

Peter chuckled, the cloud that had been hanging over him lifting a little.

'And what would my _wonderful_ manager demand of me today?'

'A little patience,' she said gently. 'Please don't yell at the staff. I've told you how much I dislike that Hard Rock lawyer.'

He smirked slightly at that, recalling several "discussions" they'd had on the topic when Donna had been forced into hour-long meetings with the prat because Peter had done something questionable.

'I'll try my best,' he agreed.

o0o

Donna lurked in the wings backstage as she watched the show. It wasn't in her job description to watch every performance but she'd discovered Peter was generally a little less likely to "ad lib" if she was somewhere within slapping distance. Francesca stood by her, sorting Donna's papers for the next day. Occasionally the girl would eye the new female lead critically but mostly she focused on her own work. Two weeks into the job, Donna had requisitioned Francesca as her personal assistant. Peter had not been happy about her request but begrudgingly he'd agreed to let her go from the dance troupe. They'd still been dating at the time and Donna suspected Francesca had convinced him in the bedroom that her happiness – which should have been Peter's prerogative – would be assured if she was working as a PA rather than a dancer.

When Donna had learnt of Francesca and Peter's separation she'd felt rather guilty because she was more than a little responsible for Francesca's sudden change in profession. Peter had been particularly cruel one evening, expecting Francesca to join in on his shenanigans without complaint. The young girl had told him exactly where to shove that idea before storming off backstage. Donna had found her in the empty make-up room and that was when they'd had a little chat. The ramifications of which Donna was certain had doomed Peter and Francesca's relationship.

'He's such an arrogant prick,' Francesca had mumbled when Donna had found her. She'd wiped away the majority of her tears by then but it was clear she'd been crying. With a supreme amount of effort Donna had managed to refrain from listing each and every fault she'd noted in Peter's character since she'd begun working for him. Instead she'd offered Francesca a tissue and some words of advice.

'Do you love him Francesca or is he simply a means to an end?'

Francesca had seemed rather startled by the question but she'd answered honestly.

'Sometimes I think I do. But now? No. Every night it gets harder and harder to love him.'

'Does _he_ love you?'

Francesca had laughed at that and simply shrugged. The non-answer was answer enough for Donna.

'You need him for your green card, don't you?' she'd pushed gently.

Francesca nodded.

'That doesn't sound like the best foundation for a relationship does it?'

'No.'

'Perhaps if you separated the green card from Peter you might find the relationship becomes one of equals rather than one where you're dependent on him.'

They'd spoken for a while longer which was when Donna had offered Francesca a job as her personal assistant. She didn't strictly need a PA but if it meant fewer tears in the long run, Donna was happy to offer. For Francesca, a job as a PA looked much more impressive on her CV then headlining a dance troupe and it meant she wasn't entirely reliant on a partnership with Peter for her green card. Surprisingly things had briefly looked up for Francesca and Peter's relationship but in the end Francesca had finally had enough and she'd gotten out. Donna had been secretly rather impressed with the girl's sass despite the fiasco the dumping had caused. Still she did feel rather guilty for interfering in the relationship.

Donna was roused from her reminiscence by the sound of applause, signalling the end of the show. As the curtain fell there was the normal hubbub as artists fled the stage and stage hands moved in to power down the equipment for the night. Peter stalked past her on his way to the stage door, undoubtedly off to pick his conquest for the night. Regardless of the number of chats Donna had had with him nothing would deter Peter from befriending a fan for the evening. Since Francesca had left him it often ended up being more than one fan which drove Donna barmy. In the end she'd simply pulled him aside and forced several boxes of condoms onto the man with strict instructions to use them liberally or she'd personally castrate him. She didn't want to imagine the legal ramifications that would arise if one of Peter's flings fell pregnant. Nor did she want to imagine the Doctor's reaction – if she ever managed to get him back – to suddenly finding himself a father.

Slowly the noise began to die down as cast members made their way home and crew dispersed for the evening. Peter had disappeared upstairs and Francesca had gone home for the night. Donna was left in Peter's dressing room, diligently replacing his schedule for the next morning – she doubted he ever read the itineraries she left taped to his mirror – and busily running damage control on Twitter. Thankfully there appeared to be nothing too outrageous. She'd just stuck the itinerary up, making sure to deliberately place it in the centre of his mirror so he'd at least have to glance at it in the morning, when she heard a crash back stage. Flicking the light off in Peter's dressing room she went to investigate.

Making her way through the props department she found herself in one of the storage units backstage. The lights were dim and ahead of her one of the lights flickered dismally before going out entirely. She'd never explored this far backstage and she wondered briefly if she should turn back, almost certain that she'd stumbled into a limited access area. She was just about to leave when there was a thud and a muffled curse from just ahead.

'Hello?' she called out, nervous despite herself. The darkness was giving her the creeps. Of course the sound just had to have come from beneath the light that had flickered out seconds ago, she thought sardonically. Holding her phone ahead of her like a beacon she stepped further into the shadows. 'Is there anybody here?'

There was movement to her left and Donna leapt back in shock, letting out a small scream as a woman appeared before her. She was slightly taller than Donna with blonde hair that glowed eerily in the light cast by the mobile phone.

'Sorry!' the woman called out, apologetically. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.'

Donna took a step back towards the light and the woman followed. As she stepped into the proper light Donna got a good look at her.

'Donna!?' the woman exclaimed in surprise.

'How do you know my name?' Donna asked reflexively, studying the younger woman suspiciously. The stranger seemed shocked by Donna's arrival.

'Who are you?' Donna demanded.

The younger woman gazed steadily at Donna, her gaze searching for something in the older woman's face. After a long moment something akin to understanding flashed briefly across the girl's face and her features relaxed, making her seem years younger than she was. Shoving her hands deep into the blue bomber jacket she wore the stranger stepped forward to meet Donna.

'I'm Rose. Rose Tyler.'


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Apologies for the double posting of Chapter 3, in case that caught anyone out!. Initially when I posted it on Saturday it didn't seem to go up so I removed it and re-posted. Here's chapter 4 and if you're feeling generous - I'd love to hear your views!

* * *

_Chapter 4_

Rose Tyler was having a rough week.

Since she'd arrived once again at Bad Wolf Bay and stepped out onto the cold, drab beach in Norway, everything had gone downhill. The only mildly positive occurrence during the week had been the realisation that the majority of the stars had finally reappeared and with their reappearance had come the certainty that at least some of her travelling had been worthwhile. It hadn't been easy making the jumps between Pete's World and her home universe but her persistence had paid off. The multiverse was safe and Rose had gained...well she'd gained _something_. She just wasn't sure _what_ yet.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Rose let herself into the Dimension Cannon control room. She hoped that a little bit of time alone in this particular room might help her gain perspective on the past seven days. Plus with the threat over and the part human Doctor safely tucked away in this universe with Rose there really wasn't a plausible reason for the project to exist anymore. In fact, that morning Rose had made the executive decision to disassemble the Dimension Cannon. Now that the stars were back the Cannon would be useless but it had still been a big decision for her. She was committing to remaining in Pete's World forever now. Surprisingly though Rose had found the decision itself relatively easy. It was the fact that she'd had to make the decision alone – because _he'd_ refused to involve himself with Torchwood – that had left her reeling.

Stepping into the familiar room Rose let her gaze travel over the banks of computers that lined the area. They were all in sleep mode; their monitor's dark despite the hum of computer fans and the blinking standby lights that indicated they weren't completely inactive. Even now the program was still functioning, running endless calculations as it sought a lock on the TARDIS. That was the ingenuity behind the Dimension Canon: a device that sought the unique energy signature given off by _his_ TARDIS. Of course it didn't always get it right and many a time Rose had crossed dimensions to find herself several miles off or several minutes too late. Once or twice she'd been close enough to hear the TARDIS dematerialising. It had been especially hard to come back from those jumps, knowing just how close she really had been.

With a wistful smile she crossed to the designated control computer and moved the mouse to wake it from sleep mode. This chair belonged to Toshiko Sato, a brilliant technician who had managed to make Rose's vague ideas a reality. Without Tosh, Rose did not doubt that it would have been an almost impossible struggle to cross dimensions again. The young woman had a brilliant mind though and had somehow managed to create the computer program with surprising ease. In fact she knew the system so well that Rose had almost asked Tosh to disassemble the Canon but she hadn't quite been able to relinquish such an important job to someone else. Whereas Tosh and the rest of the team had simply seen the Dimension Canon as a Torchwood project, necessary for the survival of their world, Rose had also seen it as a personal challenge to reunite with the Doctor. It _had_ to be her decision to disassemble the Canon for good; _her_ decision to stay.

Slipping into the soft wheelie chair Rose automatically pulled up the program, just as she had every day for the past three months. She glanced over the figures cursorily, unsure what she was looking for but unwilling to ignore the data that was trickling in. Already several minutes had passed and yet here she sat scanning figures as though she were still searching for a gap. Rose tried to convince herself that it was just muscle memory; an ingrained habit to search for a gap as she had every day for the last three months and nothing more. It was a ridiculous notion that she might truly be searching for something else because she'd already found him. The Doctor _was_ here – in Pete's World – with her. Forever.

_But not quite_.

The traitorous little voice in the back of her mind made itself known as it had been regularly since the moment the other Doctor had left her behind on Bad Wolf Bay. Rose despised herself for the thought but at the same time she couldn't ignore it. Because she couldn't quite convince herself that it wasn't the truth. She let out a despondent sigh and pushed herself away from the computer desk. The wheelie chair carried her to the centre of the room and she let herself swivel aimlessly as her thoughts returned to what had been occupying her almost endlessly for the past week: theywerestruggling_._

Logically Rose knew it had only been a week since he'd arrived in Pete's World but she was beginning to doubt that they'd ever sought their differences. She'd fought with the Doctor before but it had never been as domestic as it now was. She supposed that had something to do with the fact that the Doctor had never before been confined so absolutely to one time period, one location or one life. It stood to reason that he'd have difficulty coping with his new circumstances but she couldn't understand why he couldn't tell that she too needed time to adjust to this new life of theirs. It wasn't everyday that the man you loved duplicated himself. The Doctor seemed to have taken the occurrence in stride but for Rose it was a little more difficult. There would always be another Doctor out there now and it hurt Rose to know that her promise of forever to _him_ had been broken. Was it really so terrible that it would take her a little while to come to terms with the notion that she now loved two separate men with all her heart? According to the one who'd been left with her it _was_ terrible.

o0o

_Rose had come home from work after spending nine and a half strenuous hours organising a back story and identity for the Doctor. It should have been easy. After all, this was the second time Torchwood had been required to forge identity documents. Less than four years ago Pete Tyler had had the complex task of creating a history from nothing for Rose Tyler and an explanation for the reappearance of Jacqueline Tyler in his life. That had taken him almost a month – creating birth certificates, vaccination histories, school reports, old email accounts, and the numerous other paper trails that humans managed to accumulate over a lifetime. Torchwood was much more efficient now and really Rose should have been able to finish the task a day ago. But she hadn't been able to because the Doctor had flat out refused to accompany her to Torchwood. Instead, she'd been left to come to the realisation that it was much harder to create an identity for someone when the person it pertained to was uninterested in contributing._

_So, she'd left the Doctor at home – unwilling to get into yet another argument – and had only just managed not to slam the door on her way out to work as she'd caught sight of him spreading marmalade onto his six-piece high stack of toast. Over the course of the day her irritation with him and dispersed. It seemed time away from him gave her the much needed space to recall that it had only been three days since they'd arrived back in Pete's World. He'd only had three days to come to terms with the idea that he was now part human, TARDIS-less and mortal. When she took the time to remember that, then his behaviour suddenly made a lot more sense. It was just frustrating tiptoeing around him when she was still so confused by the whole "biological metacrisis" thing herself._

_It didn't help that his entire explanation for the metacrisis event had consisted of: "I'm _still _the Doctor, Rose". Because what precisely did that mean? Who was the other man who'd left them on the beach and flown back to their original universe then? Was he not the Doctor as well? These were the thoughts that had consumed her for the past three days because Rose honestly didn't understand and she_ wanted _to. She really,_ really _wanted to understand how it was possible that there were two of him now. Was she just supposed to love the one that had stayed? Forget the one who'd left? Could she even_ do _that?_

_She'd spent most of the day trying to come up with answers for her questions as she'd worked through his paperwork and by the time she'd arrived home she'd just wanted to have a cup of tea and forget about everything before going to bed early. He'd not been home when she'd let herself into the strangely quiet house and for the first time in three days she'd been able to recall what "silence" meant. Since he'd been living with her, Rose didn't think he'd stopped once. He was constantly coming and going from the apartment, rearranging the furniture and moving about her home as he tinkered with items that_ really _didn't need to be tinkered with. And he'd do it at_ any _hour of the day. In fact Rose was certain he hadn't slept once since he'd arrived in Pete's World because she certainly hadn't gotten more than eight hours of undisturbed sleep in the past three days._

_As she'd entered the kitchen though, Rose had immediately realised that any chance of getting her coveted cup of tea was impossible. He'd dismantled the kettle. And that really had been the last straw for Rose. She'd felt like crying the moment she'd spotted the kettle in pieces on the table, the parts mixed in with those of her dismantled toaster. Instead she'd aimed a vicious kick at his _stupid _chair which he'd left pushed out from the table – he couldn't even clean up after himself! Kicking his chair had felt so good that she'd done it several more times before it had fallen over and she'd left it lying on its side._

_She'd grabbed a bin bag then and had simply swept the whole mess up into the bin-liner without discrimination. In fact she'd gone through the rest of the house and binned everything he'd fiddled with, all the spare bits and bobs lying around, and anything she thought he might be remotely interested in fiddling with in the next twelve hours. It was irrational behaviour but she'd been exhausted and if it had meant she'd get one night of proper sleep then it really hadn't mattered to her that she'd binned the remotes, the DVD player and her mobile phone. She'd just replace them later. By the time she'd collected everything together she'd had three giant bin bags to take down to the skips on the ground floor. Which was when he'd come home. _

_Rose had been about to let herself out of her apartment when the door had opened from the other side. He'd seemed surprised to find himself face to face with her but his attention had quickly flickered to the three bin bags at her feet. She hadn't sealed the final bag and he'd caught sight of her laptop and a food blender sticking out. It had been all the encouragement he'd needed to investigate further, crouching down and rifling through the contents of the bag as though he had some right to go through Rose's possessions._

'_What are you doing?' he'd demanded, pulling out the alarm clock he'd augmented for his room. 'You can't throw this out!'_

_Rose's temper had mostly diffused by the time she'd gone through her apartment but the sight of his indignation had brought it roaring back to life and from that moment on an argument had been unavoidable._

'_Can't I?' she'd snapped, pulling the alarm clock out of his grip and jamming it back into the bag before tying the top of the bag decisively. 'I'm pretty sure I don't need_ your _permission to throw out _my _possessions. Now can you get out of the way? Or are you just going to stand in the doorway all night.'_

_He hadn't moved, instead he'd glanced over her shoulder and frowned as he'd caught sight of the living room._

'_Where are the remotes I modified last night?' he'd asked suspiciously. 'I left them on the coffee table.'_

'_Did you?' Rose had replied innocently, as she'd hefted the third bin bag under her arm. It'd been awkward to pick up all three bags at once but she hadn't wanted to give him the opportunity to go through the bags before she threw them out. Once she'd gathered them altogether though she'd glared pointedly at him when she'd realised he was still blocking the doorway._

'_Look can you move?' she'd repeated angrily. '_You _might have nothing to do tomorrow but_ I'd _really like to get to bed sometime before midnight!'_

'_Sorry?' he'd asked incredulously, the first hints of his own anger sparking to life._

'_You heard me.'_

'_What's that supposed to mean?' he'd snapped._

'_It means I've got work in the morning and I don't want to spend all night standing in the hallway because you won't let me out of _my_ apartment to put the rubbish in the bin.'_

'_Maybe that's because you seem intent on throwing out perfectly functioning devices. I mean did you even look at what you're throwing away, Rose?' he'd said angrily. 'There was absolutely nothing wrong with your laptop this afternoon!'_

'_Exactly!' she'd snarled. _

'_Then why are you throwing it all out?'_

_He'd sounded genuinely confused and that had really bothered Rose._

'_Because,' she'd ground out, 'otherwise some moron will decide to "fix" them overnight!'_

'_Sorry?' he'd finally asked after several moments of stunned silence._

_Rose had laughed then. 'Oh that's so typical of you,' she'd mocked. '"Sorry". Is that all you can say? It's not even an apology.'_

'_What do you want me to say Rose?' he'd snapped and his tone had been cold with anger._

'_I don't want you to_ say _anything,' she'd shouted, finally dropping the bin bags that she'd been holding so precariously. 'Don't you get it? I want you to _stop_. I want to be able to sleep through the night again without being woken ten times because you think it's acceptable to tinker all night. I want to be able to come home and have a cup of tea and not find that _my _kettle's been dismantled and you've left the mess sitting on the kitchen table. And most of all I want you to stop avoiding Torchwood so that I don't have to spend nine hours a day making up some bullshit back story that you'll probably never bother to learn!'_

'_I didn't ask you to do that!' he'd shouted back. 'I don't _want_ you to give me a history! I don't _want_ any favours from Torchwood!'_

'_Well tough,' Rose had cut in. 'You can't go around calling yourself "Doctor" –'_

'_THAT'S WHO I AM, ROSE,' he'd yelled, and there had been real anger and frustration in his tone. 'I'M THE DOCTOR. That's my NAME!'_

'_Seriously?! You're like a bleeding broken record! I'm NOT asking you to change your name. I'm asking you to pick a _human_ name for the wretched identity papers I'm spending hours trying to fix up for you. I couldn't care less what _you_ decide to call yourself but the name "Doctor" doesn't cut it for a passport. And seeing as you can't even seem to stay put in my apartment for a few hours, I'm guessing you're going to want a bloody passport.'_

'_I didn't realise I needed _your_ permission to take a walk.'_

'_Sarcasm doesn't suit you,' Rose had replied sourly. 'And it's not about "permission", it's about common courtesy. People don't just wander off without saying anything.'_

'_You certainly didn't seem to have any problem doing just that when I told you it travelled in _time._'_

_They'd both frozen then, equally surprised by the stinging comment. Rose had recovered first though and as so often happens in arguments had retaliated with an equally venomous comment._

'_Yeah?' she'd sneered. 'Well maybe I'd have stayed put if I'd known he was going to up and change on me one day.'_

_He'd looked at her in shock then and Rose had instantly regretted the hasty words. They weren't true. He'd begun to pace, backwards and forwards in front of the open door before he'd finally let out a short bitter laugh._

'_This is just so typical of you!' he'd accused. 'I regenerated right in front of you and you still didn't believe I was _me_. I suppose I should cut you some slack this time – you didn't _actually_ see the end of the regeneration – but surely even your tiny human brain can work this one out. It's not hard to understand, Rose,' he'd muttered sarcastically before some of his desperation had leaked into his words. 'I'm the same man. I'm_ me_. Why can't you see that!?'_

'_It's impossible to understand because you won't explain!' Rose had shouted hysterically. 'How can there be two of you? How can you both be the Doctor? And if you are both the Doctor – if you're both _exactly_ the same man – how come the other you walked away?'_

'_Because he knew I'd stay,' he'd ground out._

'_That's not an answer,' Rose had replied stubbornly. 'That's an excuse.'_

'_What do you want me to say? I_ am_ him,' he'd groaned in frustration._

'_I promised to stay with you forever, Doctor but how can I keep that promise now there are two of you?'_

'_Is that what you want?' he'd accused bitterly. 'To be with_ him?'

'_That's not what I said.'_

'_You're not denying it.'_

'_Don't you get it?' Rose had replied sadly and suddenly all the anger and bitterness had gone and it was just her arguing with the one person she didn't want to be arguing with. 'I love you...but I can't just stop loving_ him _either._

'_He left you behind,' he'd said with venom, unwilling to yield once Rose had mentioned the other him. '_He _could never love you back. Not the way you want.'_

'_He's still_ you,_' she'd whispered quietly._

_That had been the wrong thing to say and he'd stared at her as though she'd betrayed him. Rose had realised then in that moment that she couldn't stay with him. They needed space. And they needed time. _

o0o

After that particular argument three days ago, Rose had decided it would be best for all concerned if she moved back in with her parents for the time being and allow him to have her flat to himself whilst they "adjusted". As she'd packed her bags that night Rose had half-hoped that he'd call her out, that he'd tell her it was a stupid idea and beg her not to leave. But he'd said nothing and instead had watched stonily as she'd walked out of his life. They hadn't spoken since then. It was only by second hand information – courtesy of Jackie of all people – that Rose knew for certain that he was at least still "functioning" as her mother had put it and still residing in her flat. As she'd left the flat that awful night Rose had wondered if she'd ever see him again. Part of her had been terrified by the idea that he'd disappear for good. After all he was the King of running away.

The next morning she'd simply gone into work and finished his paperwork for him, finally admitting defeat. Despite the hurt she'd suffered from his refusal to interact with Torchwood, in the light of day she couldn't blame him. Rose got it, she really did but she'd only been trying to help him. When she'd first arrived in Pete's universe she too had had a hard time reconciling what her world's Torchwood _had_ been with the organisation _Pete_ had created. But with time she had come to see the good in the organisation. She'd thought for certain that her endorsement of Pete's Torchwood would have meant something to the Doctor but apparently he believed she ran rampant with a group of xenophobes. Well that's how Rose had taken his rejection of her offer to work together as part of Torchwood. She'd even asked him to help her close down the Dimension Canon in a misguided attempt to show him that she was here for good but he'd refused.

If Rose was being honest, it hurt that he didn't want to be involved in something that she'd given three years of her life to. Particularly since it was a project that she'd poured her heart and soul into and the project that had ultimately brought him back to her. Deep down though she knew he was terrified that she'd go back to the other him and it broke her heart that he was so certain she would.

That was the real reason they were struggling she conceded: _his_ inferiority complex and _her_ inability to commit to him.

She smiled sadly to herself as she resolved not to dissolve into tears. It had become an embarrassingly regular occurrence this past week and she was determined to get the better of herself. Rose was saved from wallowing in self-pity though as the sound of an alarm broke into her thoughts. Startling badly, she almost fell off the chair in her haste to pull the wheelie chair back to the computer desk. It was impossible that she was hearing that sound but as she glanced at the computer screen she realised she hadn't imagined it. The Dimension Cannon had locked onto the TARDIS. And not just that: it had found a gap.

As the program was designed to do, the banks of computers had automatically calculated the trajectory and calibrated the jump. All that was required now, if Rose was to make the jump, was for her to simply supply her authorisation key by entering the unique ID code which was linked to her disc. Once that was entered the disc was active and a jump could be made.

Without really thinking about it Rose found herself holding the bright yellow disc that would allow her to jump, via the void, back to her original universe. She held the disc in hand for a long moment, turning it over and over as she traced the familiar ridges of the object and attempted to come to a decision. The logical part of her mind was insistently reminding her that she was _exactly _where she needed to be at present. The Doctor was _here_, in Pete's World, with her, for the rest of _their_ lives; their _equal_ life spans. The right thing to do would be to put the disc down, disconnect the computer and shut down the program as she'd intended to do when she'd first arrived at Torchwood that morning. But she couldn't quite dismiss that tiny little voice in the back of her mind that was telling her there was a _reason_ this gap existed. After all, the majority of the stars had reappeared again and from Rose's limited understanding that meant the Dimension Canon too should have shut down permanently. It was a process, Donna had informed them, known as dimensional retroclosure.

Glancing guilty towards the door, as though she expected him to burst in and try and stop her, Rose pulled up the authorisation program. Quickly she typed in the nine digit password – _FANTASTIC_ – and hit "Authorise". The program immediately changed from "Standby" mode to "Active" mode as the authority code registered.

There was one more moment of indecision as her hand hovered over the disc. She was coming back, of that she was certain, but if it meant she could say goodbye to _him_ then there really was no choice. Taking one final deep breath, Rose hit the disc and disappeared with a thunderous clap as she was ripped from Pete's World and hurled across the void to the universe she'd been born in. Her final thought: she hoped _he'd_ forgiver her.

o0o

Despite the numerous jumps she'd made Rose had never quite perfected the art of a subtle arrival. This jump was no different she realised as she hurtled headlong into a dilapidated lighting rig that was leant haphazardly against a wall. There was a loud thud as one of the heavy lights came off and crashed to the floor. Rose let out a curse as she hurried to right the unwieldy object. Once she'd set it upright she looked around the dim area she'd landed in. Based on the array of bizarre material surrounding her she guessed she was backstage somewhere. The TARDIS lock had originated in Las Vegas, Nevada, and given her current surroundings Rose was beginning to suspect the program had miscalculated her destination. Finding the Doctor in a dingy backstage room in Vegas seemed a little farfetched even for her.

Distractedly she fumbled for her super phone. Tosh had managed to modify the device to work – in a limited capacity – across dimensions. She couldn't phone people from her original universe but she could keep in contact with the Dimension Canon control room at all times. Additionally the phone also had an application that ran much like a GPS and relayed her position in relation to the TARDIS. It was this application that she wanted to consult now because she suspected she was a few miles off target.

Glancing down at the screen Rose frowned when it failed to light up. That had never happened before, she thought worriedly. She tried her own form of "jiggery-pokery" – a much more literal action than the Doctor's more technical term – and fiddled with the battery as she attempted to restart the phone. She was muttering in frustration when she heard tentative footsteps approaching her. Shoving her mobile into her pocket she stepped back into the shadows.

'Hello? Is there anybody here?'

A familiar voice came from the shadows, hidden behind the brandished light of a mobile phone, and without really meaning to Rose stepped forward to meet them. The woman let out a yell as Rose revealed herself, clearly startled by her sudden appearance.

'Sorry!' Rose called out immediately. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!

As she stepped into the light Rose gaped slightly as she realised who had found her.

'Donna!?'

'How do you know my name? Who are you?'

Rose stared steadily at Donna for a moment, searching for any recognition in the older woman's gaze: there was none. Clearly she had arrived at a point in Donna's time stream prior to the Earth being taken by the Daleks. The realisation that Donna was meeting her for the first time now went some way to explaining Donna's familiarity aboard the TARDIS. She hadn't said anything but Rose had formed a niggling suspicion that Donna knew more about her then she was letting on based off their brief conversation whilst towing the Earth back to its proper orbit. Rose was beginning to suspect that there was a bigger picture she was currently missing. That idea would go some way to explaining how the Dimension Canon was still functioning and why it had abandoned Rose at this particular point in Donna Noble's time stream. Throwing caution to the wind Rose decided to simply go with it.

'I'm Rose,' she finally answered, assuming the universe wasn't going to be ripped apart by her admission. After all, Donna had clearly lived through this encounter successfully once before. 'Rose Tyler,' she added.

Rose wasn't really expecting the name to mean anything to Donna but apparently it did.

'_Rose_?' Donna asked incredulously, raising both eyebrows in disbelief.

Unsure what had caused that particular response, Rose simply nodded.

'Don't tell me your _spaceman's_ Rose.'

'I'm sorry?' Rose queried, genuinely confused by the direction the conversation had taken.

Donna was looking her up and down, apparently sizing her up to some particular measure Rose hadn't been made aware of.

'You _are_,' Donna breathed dubiously. 'You're _her_!'

Rose stared blankly at Donna, wondering at the wariness and suspicion that had seeped into her tone.

'How did you know who I was?' Donna demanded brashly; suddenly business-like as she stepped back slightly from Rose and fixed her with a stony gaze. Rose gazed back, unfazed by the show of bravado. She knew Donna and she trusted the woman which was why she was seriously considering telling her the truth.

'How long have you been travelling with the Doctor, Donna Noble?' Rose asked seriously, ignoring Donna's question temporarily.

Donna huffed at the slight and stared pointedly at Rose, clearly unwilling to budge on her own question until she got some kind of answer. At the sight of the familiar expression Rose couldn't help but laugh. It was a proper laugh too – something she hadn't done in a long time – and as the feeling of mirth suffused her she wondered why she'd left it for so long. The sound of her laughter seemed to diffuse the tension in the room and Donna relaxed slightly, a tight smile sneaking out across her own facade.

'It's complicated, Donna,' Rose answered lightly. Donna remained tight-lipped and Rose realised she'd have to give the inquisitive woman a bit more. 'I know your name because we've met before.'

Donna's eyes narrowed.

'Is that really so impossible for you to believe?' Rose prodded gently.

A myriad of expressions flitted across Donna's face before the first beginnings of belief settled into place.

'I don't travel with him,' Donna said suddenly.

It took Rose a moment to realise Donna had answered her previous question.

'What do you mean?' she asked in surprise.

'I turned him down,' Donna admitted regretfully.

'But hang on,' Rose cut in before Donna could continue. 'He's here now, isn't he? The TARDIS is close by so he's got to be here. You really don't travel with him yet?' she repeated in disbelief, truly confused as to where she was in Donna's time stream. As far as she knew Donna had found the Doctor again in London, when they'd stopped the Adipose together, before going on to travel with him.

'You know where the TARDIS is!?' Donna exclaimed excitedly. 'Little blue box that's bigger on the inside, right?'

'How did you get here if you didn't come in the TARDIS?' Rose asked confusedly – she had the distinct impression that she and Donna were having entirely separate conversations.

'The way one normally gets to Vegas,' Donna replied sarcastically. 'By _aeroplane_,' she added slowly when Rose still seemed perplexed. The "dumbo" was only just withheld.

Rose frowned, deep in thought. She was clearly missing something.

'Donna,' she began seriously, 'I _will_ tell you as much as I possibly can about who I am and how I know you but for the moment I need to know what's going on here. Why are you in Vegas? And where's the Doctor?'

Donna sized her up for a moment.

'Alright,' she agreed. 'But let's not talk here. I've got a room upstairs. We won't be disturbed there.'

o0o

The lift ride up to Donna's room was completely silent. Rose had agreed readily to continuing the discussion in private and had followed Donna without protest straight up to her room. If the younger woman was surprised by the size and obvious affluence of the room they'd arrived in she didn't comment, for which Donna was grateful. She was still adjusting to the spacious apartment herself.

'Would you like something to drink?' Donna asked politely as she gestured for Rose to make herself comfortable in the lounge area.

'I'd love a cup of tea if it's not too much trouble,' Rose gushed.

Donna smirked slightly at the enthusiasm but didn't comment. Instead she set about preparing two cups of English Breakfast Tea. Satisfied that the tea had drawn for long enough she added milk to her own and took the small tray containing the cups, a small jug of milk and the sugar bowl over to the table. Rose smiled gratefully as Donna set the tray down, taking her cup and adding a tiny smidgen of milk plus a teaspoon of sugar; stirring it in absentmindedly as she looked around the apartment.

'Nice place you've got here,' Rose commented sincerely as she took a sip from her tea. 'You never mentioned living in Vegas when we last met.'

Donna bit back the urge to ask about the last time Rose had met her. The concept was bizarre and she was still trying to get her head around it despite the fact the Doctor had proved to her he was more than capable of time travel. Witnessing the beginnings of the Earth's creation was hardly something one forgot. It wasn't a terribly big leap of logic then to suppose that it was possible Rose had met her sometime in Donna's own future. Not when she knew for certain that the woman seated across from her had travelled with the Doctor before.

'I don't own it,' she finally answered, sipping her own tea. 'Hard Rock put me up here as part of an agreement with my client.'

Rose's eyebrows rose slightly.

'Your client must be quite lucrative.'

'To be honest, I'm not sure where his wealth's coming from,' Donna admitted. 'The last time I met him he couldn't even foot a taxi bill. Doesn't carry money apparently,' she added incredulously.

Rose stiffened slightly at her words.

'Donna,' Rose asked very carefully, her voice tight with suppressed interest. 'Who is your client?'

'The man I work for is known as Peter Vincent,' Donna answered, breaking off to see if the name meant anything to Rose. It didn't apparently, if the slump in the younger woman's shoulders was anything to go by. 'He's an illusionist and magician, of sorts, with an unhealthy obsession for vampires. He also shares an uncanny resemblance to the Doctor.'

Rose's eyes shot up to meet Donna's; confusion and disbelief warring for dominance in the hazel depths of her irises.

'In fact,' Donna continued bluntly, 'I'd almost go so far as to say he _is_ the Doctor. Only problem is he seems to really think he _is_ Peter Vincent. But I've done some research Rose and it's not possible. Peter Vincent _didn't_ exist until a few months ago. It sounds mad but I think the Doctor's been possessed by aliens.'

Donna broke off suddenly, realising she'd gotten more than a little carried away. It was just such a relief to find someone who knew the Doctor and could understand the situation, that she hadn't been able to contain her enthusiasm. She'd spent a month trying to help the Doctor and she'd been utterly useless. With the appearance of Rose, Donna was beginning to think they just might be able to work out what was going on.

'Well, Donna Noble,' Rose replied gamely. 'It certainly wouldn't be the first time.'


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has left a review so far. It's fantastic to know people are reading this story, and enjoying it! I hope you enjoy the latest instalment, and it'd be great to hear what you think!

* * *

_Chapter 5_

Donna had already had breakfast, gone through the fifty emails that had appeared in her inbox overnight, tactfully refuted claims on Twitter that Peter had been spotted in a strip club the previous evening, and sent the man himself off to a meeting with his publicist for the morning – all before Rose had even begun to stir. By the time Rose managed to stumble out of the shower Donna had just returned from the local café with two cups of coffee and an assortment of pastries. Rose smiled gratefully as she reached for one of the Flat Whites and took a sip. Donna had insisted that Rose stay in the spare bedroom of her apartment for which she was truly grateful. She'd forgotten what it was like to stumble back into this universe unprepared; being officially dead was awfully inconvenient at times.

The previous evening Donna had given Rose a detailed account of her month in Las Vegas with Peter Vincent, and although Rose had yet to explain her appearance in this universe once again she was thankful that Donna hadn't pestered when she'd begged off telling her story until she'd had some sleep. Jumping dimensions was a bit like air travel; it always left her a little jet-lagged. Tosh had hypothesised that it had something to do with synchronising time streams and acclimatising to the different energy in each universe. Rose simply understood it as "post-jump fatigue".

Donna watched Rose closely as she sipped her coffee waiting patiently for the caffeine to sink in. She nibbled on an apple Danish as she resisted the urge to fire a barrage of questions at the weary traveller. It was clear to Donna that whatever had allowed Rose to appear out of thin air backstage had taken a lot out of the young woman. Finally though Rose seemed to have perked up enough to be willing to field questions; she was looking at Donna knowingly as though she knew exactly what was going on in the older woman's mind.

'Go on then, Donna,' she chuckled. 'Ask away.'

Despite being given permission it was a few moments before Donna settled on her first question.

'Are you human?' she asked casually, remembering her first conversation with the Doctor and his own blasé enquiry as to her species.

Rose chuckled. 'Yeah, I am.'

'How'd you manage that appearing trick then?' Donna asked, waving her hands around to indicate Rose's impossible arrival.

'I work for an organisation known as Torchwood,' Rose began carefully. 'We investigate extraterrestrial and paranormal activity on Earth, salvage and modify alien tech, and sometimes, when necessary, we defend the Earth.'

'So, you're like Ghostbusters or something?'

Rose laughed properly at that. 'I'll have to tell my Dad that one,' she said good-naturedly. 'I suppose we're a bit like that, but not really. We're more high-tech and we rarely come across true ghosts.'

She smiled fondly at Donna, her eyes alight with amusement.

'What are you doing here then?' Donna asked. 'When I met the Doctor he seemed to think you were "lost"? What did he mean by that?'

Rose stiffened, her previous amusement vanishing in a flash to be replaced by a sorrow-filled and weary-worn facade. It was carefully hidden but Donna recognised the look; it had been the same look the Doctor had had about him when he'd spoken of Rose. The younger woman glanced out one of the floor to ceiling windows, clearly lost in her own thoughts. Donna let the silence drag on and was just about to leave Rose to her thoughts when she finally turned back to Donna.

'How did you know who I was, Donna Noble?' she asked solemnly, a deep curiosity hidden behind the words.

'The Doctor told me about you,' Donna replied confusedly. 'He said you were lost. He said your name was _Rose_.'

'But how did you know that he meant _me_?'

Donna chuckled slightly at that. 'Well you're the first Rose I've met who's managed to appear out of nowhere. It's the sort of thing I'd expect from _him_. Plus, you knew my name.'

Rose shook her head slightly in disbelief but she was smiling again.

'You really are amazing, Donna,' she murmured quietly.

'What do you mean by that?' Donna asked just as quietly, her voice squeaking slightly in surprise. Nobody had ever called her amazing.

Rose smiled sadly and ignored the question.

'What am I doing here?' she said instead, forcing some cheer into her voice as she repeated Donna's earlier question. 'Well I suppose you could say I decided to take a chance and ended up here. And now I appear to be rather stuck, which is interesting to say the least,' she finished dryly.

Donna's eyebrows sky-rocketed into her hairline and it was clear she had no idea what Rose was talking about.

'The Doctor was right,' Rose explained gently. 'I _was_ lost.'

She took a deep breath before launching into her story.

'A long time ago, I used to call this universe home, Donna. I was born here, and for nineteen years I spent my life on the Powell Estate. And then I met a man. The strangest, saddest, most wonderful man I've ever met. He was 900 years old and he offered to show me the stars. Not only that but he showed me a better way of living my life. He taught me to never give up, and to always make a stand. He taught me to say no, and how to have the guts to do what's right when everyone else runs away. He taught me how to make the hard decisions.

'The whole of time and space and we just _ran_. There was so much to see, and so much to be done, and so little _time_. I was going to stay with him forever. I thought it would never end,' Rose admitted sadly and Donna could hear the disbelief in Rose's voice as though she couldn't quite believe she'd been so naive.

'So of course it did.'

Rose let out a humourless laugh rich in irony, for she knew very well that she and the Doctor had brought about the creation of Torchwood in this universe and by doing so had sealed their own fates. Donna watched on quietly, saying nothing as she let Rose finish the story in her own time.

'I ended up in a parallel world,' Rose continued quietly. 'It wasn't all bad. I had my mum and dad, and my best friend Mickey with me. Blimey, you can't know how much of an impossibility that was! I should have been happy, and in a way I almost was. But it's hard to carry on without the person –'

She broke off but Donna didn't really need to hear the end of that sentence. She'd met the Doctor – in fact she was certain now that she'd met him almost immediately after Rose had been lost – and he'd been broken. Now having met _Rose_ it didn't take much to guess how that sentence ended: _but it's hard to carry on without the person you love more than life itself_.

'Anyway,' Rose continued bravely, shaking off whatever memories had overcome her. 'It's been a few years for me now, and I can't really go into specifics but it all worked out in the end, Donna.'

Donna looked unconvinced.

'So the Doctor –'

Rose cut in before she could finish.

'I'm _happy,_ Donna,' she insisted, her words holding the slightest warning that this was something they couldn't talk about. 'We all ended up where we needed to be, and I'm sorry I can't explain properly but this all happens in _your_ future now, and that's something you have to get to on your own. I can't tell you where you're going,' she finished regretfully.

Donna didn't pretend to understand entirely the complexities of travelling in time but she could understand Rose's reluctance to reveal too much. And if Donna was honest – she really didn't want to know. Whatever was going to happen in her future, she wanted to get there on her own.

'Where's the fun in reading the book, if you already know how it's going to end?' Donna supplied brightly, falling back on humour.

Rose seemed relieved that Donna wasn't pushing the subject. 'Exactly,' she agreed, her smile lighting up her face.

'There is one thing I don't understand,' Donna said after a moment's hesitation. 'You said you're stuck here. What did you mean by that?'

'Ah, yeah,' Rose mumbled, for the first time looking rather guilty. 'I shouldn't really have been able to cross back into this universe. Not anymore at least.'

She let out a sigh.

'Turns out the Dimension Cannon was still working when I went to shut it down yesterday morning. It's the device I used to jump between this Earth and the parallel Earth where I live now,' Rose added when she noticed Donna's confused look. 'I only meant to jump back for a moment, but when I got here the Cannon failed.'

Rose let out a humourless laugh, looking away from Donna's concerned expression as she continued on self-deprecatingly, 'I should have expected it to stop working but I thought I'd get one last jump in. I'm stuck here now Donna; for a good while at least.'

She'd only considered the thought fleetingly but Rose figured once Donna reached the point in her time stream where the stars began to disappear, she'd be able to jump back to her own universe. The worst part was she suspected she'd land right back at the start – right when they'd just managed to get the Cannon working – which meant it would be at least a year now until she saw the Doctor again. Of course, he was close by at this moment, but until Rose knew more she wasn't going to risk seeing him. Not until she was sure that it wouldn't cause some kind of paradox. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause Reapers to descend upon the world once more.

'But the Doctor's here,' Donna began tentatively. 'That's good isn't it? You can see him again.'

Rose smiled sadly.

'I can't, Donna. Not until I have a better idea of what's going on. When you time travel, meeting people at the wrong time can be catastrophic. End of the world sort of catastrophic,' she added frankly.

'But you spoke to me,' Donna said slowly, frowning slightly. 'You've told me all this _stuff_.'

'It was a bit of a lucky guess with you,' Rose admitted sheepishly. 'The first time I met you I got the impression we'd met before. So I figured this was _that_ meeting. Luckily, I was right.'

'Bloody hell,' Donna breathed quietly. Although she hadn't begun her travels with the Doctor yet, Rose got the feeling she was beginning to understand the scale of things when it came to travelling in time.

'What about your family?' Donna asked suddenly, the thought just occurring to her. 'Won't they worry about where you are?'

Rose stiffened slightly.

'Time moves differently in the other universe,' Rose murmured quietly. 'If things work out how I think they might, they won't know I was gone.'

'Well that's one silver lining at least,' Donna offered, attempting some levity.

'Yeah,' Rose mumbled. Trouble was, she thought despondently to herself, if it didn't work out and he realised she'd gone...

Rose shoved the depressing thought away and instead decided to focus on the present moment and more precisely, on what she could do to help the Doctor. All this talk about her own problems and she'd almost forgotten why they were in Las Vegas to start with.

'So, if what you say is true and Peter Vincent really is the Doctor then chances are the TARDIS wasn't far from where I appeared. What do you say, Donna Noble? Up for a bit of an adventure?'

o0o

Armed with flashlights, Donna and Rose scoured the hitherto unexplored backstage area. Donna was certain the staff rarely accessed this particular area – she herself had only become aware of it when Rose had appeared – and had assured Rose that as long as they kept to themselves nobody would mind. And if they did mind, well Donna would be more than happy to give them a piece of her mind.

To Donna's utmost surprise it took them less than ten minutes to locate the Doctor's wooden blue box. She would have been annoyed by the amount of time she'd wasted searching for the box out on the street, if she hadn't been so relieved to find it. The discovery of the Doctor's ship made it _real_. It meant he really was here. The TARDIS stood in a small alcove not twenty foot from where Rose had first appeared. The overhead lighting was out and the ship itself dark, so it was no wonder they'd missed it the previous evening. It was almost as though someone hadn't wanted the police box to be found.

Rose's face lit up as Donna called her over, bathing the TARDIS in their combined torch beams as the pair stood back to admire the ship for a moment. Hesitantly Donna tried the door as Rose fumbled for something around her neck. Disappointment suffused through her as the door refused to budge. What good was finding the TARDIS if they couldn't get in, Donna thought glumly. There was a light touch on her arm as Rose gently nudged her out of the way.

'I've got the key,' she explained.

Donna's grin matched Rose's as she watched the younger woman fit the key that hung on a chain around her neck into the lock. There was a satisfying click and this time when Rose pushed, the door opened inward. Tucking the key back under her shirt Rose gestured for Donna to lead the way in.

It was lucky they'd brought flashlights, Donna thought idly.

Unlike the previous time she'd been aboard the TARDIS, the ship was completely dark and entirely devoid of life. Donna heard Rose gasp slightly in surprise as she stepped up the ramp behind her, letting the door close behind them. Apparently Rose had never seen the ship so lifeless either. As they progressed slowly up the ramp, the TARDIS seemed to detect their presence. The lights flickered briefly into life, bathing the console in the palest of greens as the TARDIS gave a feeble hum of greeting before descending into darkness once more. It was the saddest sound Donna had ever heard.

'Hey girl,' Rose called quietly into the darkness as she reached the console, laying her hand on one of the familiar controls. 'Long time no see, eh?'

The lever she was resting on warmed slightly but apart from that the TARDIS remained lifeless.

'What's happened to you?' Rose murmured into the silence. 'It's worse than when you fell into Pete's World.'

Donna didn't question the one-sided conversation. The way the Doctor had interacted with his ship when she'd met him, she'd almost believe the TARDIS was sentient.

'Is it _dead_?' Donna asked hesitantly, her voice echoing eerily around the console room.

'No,' Rose answered surely. 'She's hanging on.'

She moved towards the doorway that led further into the ship.

'One sec, Donna,' she called over her shoulder before jogging off down the dark corridor. Shadows jumped out at her as the flashlight shook in her grip. It didn't take Rose very long to realise that there was very little to see in the corridor. She turned and jogged back to where Donna was standing in the console room.

'She's dying,' Rose murmured in disbelief. 'There's only a single corridor left now; a handful of rooms. It must have been the only thing she could do to buy time,' Rose finished sadly.

'But why's it...I mean why's _she_ like this?' Donna asked perplexedly as she aimed her torch towards the ceiling, once again marvelling at the "bigger on the inside" trick.

'I don't know,' Rose began helplessly, pacing as she began to think aloud. 'The first time she arrived in the parallel world she was a bit like this – diesel in a petrol engine the Doctor said – but she's in the _right_ universe. So it can't just be about _energy_. It's as though –'

Rose broke off mid-thought and stared at Donna in horror.

'Oh my God,' she breathed, turning on the spot as she lunged towards the console. 'He wouldn't,' she muttered to the console. 'He wouldn't do that to you, would he? He couldn't be _that_ stupid!'

The console warmed marginally beneath Rose's palms.

'How could he?' Rose murmured softly, apparently forgetting that Donna was in the room with her as she continued to "converse" one-sidedly with the TARDIS. 'How could he leave you?'

'Rose,' Donna cut in rudely. 'What the hell is going on?'

Rose turned around immediately.

'Sorry,' Rose offered apologetically. 'Got a bit carried away.'

'Talking to a _ship_?' Donna enquired caustically, falling back on sarcasm.

'Haven't done that bit yet?' Rose guessed, excusing Donna's harsh tone with a small smile. 'Right,' she continued briskly. 'Donna Noble, meet the TARDIS. TARDIS, meet Donna Noble.'

The lights flickered once more and Donna felt the merest tickle of warmth in the back of her mind. She should have been alarmed by the alien presence but for some reason it felt as though she were welcoming back an old friend – one she hadn't realised was missing.

'Hello,' Donna tried cheerfully, feeling oddly compelled to supply a greeting.

The lights sparked brightly for a moment, before disappearing once more.

'She likes you,' Rose said warmly, once again resting her hand fondly upon the console. 'The Doctor sometimes forgets to mention that his ship is telepathic,' she continued on. 'I thought you'd like to meet her properly.'

Donna settled for attempting to keep her mouth shut.

'It's a bit overwhelming, hey,' Rose offered kindly. 'I know I freaked out a little bit the first time I realised the aliens weren't all talking English.'

She laughed slightly, clearly recalling the experience and Donna felt herself relax again. Sentient alien ship – she could deal with that.

'So, did she tell you what's going on?' Donna asked, coming to stand beside Rose. Tentatively she reached out a hand to the console, laying her palm down flat against the edge. It warmed slightly beneath her touch; something that felt incredibly right.

Rose let out a sad sigh.

'Not exactly,' she explained. 'It's like playing "Hot and Cold" when you communicate with her. I was thinking out loud, and she let me know I was "warm".'

'What were you thinking about?'

Rose glanced up at Donna, her eyes revealing the sorrow within.

'When I said she was dying, I was reminded of something that happened awhile ago,' Rose began, slowly circumnavigating the console as she did so. Occasionally she paused to trace various instruments, halting in her explanation as she relieved the memories. Whatever had happened that day, Donna could tell the memory was tinged with sadness.

'We were in a situation once, when there really was no hope. We were going to die no matter what the Doctor did that day. He knew it as well, which was why he did what he did. He sent me away – back home to my mum – because he'd promised her that he'd always take me home. He activated one of his Emergency Programs, which meant the TARDIS would return me home but that it could never return for him. He told me to let the TARDIS die. To leave her on a street corner somewhere and let her fade away.'

Rose broke off shakily and Donna fought the urge to wrap the younger woman in a bone-crushing hug.

'She wasn't as bad as this when we landed,' Rose continued on, gesturing around the darkened console room, 'but with time she would have been. Without the Doctor to look after her...well nothing lives forever,' Rose trailed off.

'How did you get back?' Donna asked incredulously, not believing for a moment that Rose would have left the Doctor to his fate.

Rose chuckled slightly. 'I found a loophole.'

It was a brush-off, but a kind one.

'So,' Donna began boldly, bringing them back to the present issue, 'if the TARDIS is like this the Doctor _must_ be trapped as Peter Vincent.'

Rose made a non-committal sound, before darting forward and picking something up off the console.

'Whose is this?' she asked in surprise, flourishing a silver flip-phone in Donna's direction.

'The Doctor's?' Donna suggested, although she couldn't really imagine the Doctor with a mobile. He definitely hadn't had one the last time they'd met.

'He doesn't do phones,' Rose murmured with certainty, flicking the phone open and scrolling through the contacts. None of the names meant anything to Rose. She shut the phone, tapping it against her chin as she ran through potential scenarios that could possibly explain why the TARDIS had been left as she was.

'When did Peter Vincent first appear?' asked Rose, glancing over to the jump seat where Donna had settled for the moment.

'Two months ago,' came the prompt answer.

'The TARDIS is huge,' Rose continued on, thinking aloud again. 'There would have been thousands upon thousands of rooms to shut down. Two months isn't long enough for her to be like this. Not when he's still close by.'

'What if it was a body-swap or something?' Donna suggested, trying her best not to look sceptical. 'I mean Peter's definitely human, so maybe something forced him to swap bodies and the Doctor's actually galaxies away.'

'Maybe,' Rose agreed half-heartedly. 'But he dreams about the Doctor doesn't he?'

'Yeah.'

Donna was silent for a moment before she felt compelled to speak once again, airing a thought that had been troubling her for some time.

'Sometimes though, I catch myself thinking he's the Doctor. I'll look into his eyes and they're _so_ sad and so _very_ old. It makes me wonder if he's ever known what it is to be happy. And then he'll blink, and it's all gone and he's just Peter again.'

Rose shared a sad smile with Donna.

'That's what I was afraid of,' Rose admitted glumly. 'I think he shut the TARDIS down himself. No one else would know how to let her go so efficiently.'

'Why would he do that?' Donna asked in horror.

'Because that's how he copes,' Rose answered quietly. 'He _runs_.'

The TARDIS hummed weakly; providing confirmation where none was wanted.

'Something terrible must have happened to him,' Rose whispered into the silence, 'because this is impossible. He'd _never_ leave her.'

Rose sounded so adamant but at the same time, Donna could hear the fear in her voice.

'Would the TARDIS know?' she asked quietly. 'Could she tell us?'

Rose opened her mouth to dismiss the idea but then a thought occurred to her.

'Donna Noble, you're brilliant!' she exclaimed excitedly.

'Am I?' Donna asked, unsure about what she'd said to set Rose off.

'The TARDIS has these emergency protocols,' Rose continued on excitedly, her attention fixed solely on the central column of the TARDIS. 'I've only ever seen Emergency Program One and that's not what we need at the moment, but I know the Doctor mentioned other ones. Not just emergency programming but interfaces as well. It's a long shot but we might just be able to pull one up.'

'Well, what are you waiting for?' Donna cried, joining Rose by her spot at the console. 'Try something!'

Donna made to reach for a random button but Rose stopped her.

'We'll want a voice activated one,' Rose explained. 'They use less power but have access to the TARDIS matrix. Apparently,' she added when she caught sight of Donna's expression.

Reaching forward Rose laid her palm flat on the central column. 'I know you haven't got much power left now girl, but anything you can give us would be appreciated.'

Nothing happened for a moment and then there was a deep rumbling and the console began to shake. The corridor Rose had explored all but disappeared, and the console room itself seemed to shrink slightly.

'Thank you!' Rose whispered to the TARDIS, pulling her hand away from the central column to steady herself. Eventually the shuddering ceased and Rose knew the TARDIS had re-routed as much power as she could.

'Voice interface,' Rose called into the silence with a surety she didn't feel. 'Emergency voice interface?' she added after a moment when nothing happened. She was about to try again when a hologram shimmered into existence beside her. Rose's breath caught as she took in the hologram's appearance.

'_Voice interface enabled_.'

The delivery was mechanical but his Northern accent was unmistakeable.

'Who the hell is that?' Donna cried in alarm as she caught sight of the hologram.

'He's the –' Rose began to explain but broke off as the hologram shifted and reworked itself into another figure.

Rose felt a stab of guilt as the image settled. Not him, she thought desperately as she took in the rumbled blue suit worn over a simple maroon t-shirt. He's brown hair was sticking up in all directions but Rose couldn't bring herself to meet the hologram's gaze. Even though she knew it wasn't really him, she couldn't bear to look at him. Not when she knew exactly what she'd see in his eyes if he truly had been standing before her. The TARDIS seemed to sense her distress and accommodated once again. The blue melted into brown pinstripes and the maroon faded to the light blue oxford and accompanying tie.

'Doctor?' Donna asked reflexively.

'_I am not the Doctor. I am a voice interface._'

Donna scoffed. 'Could've fooled me, you're just as rude as the _real_ one,' she mumbled under her breath. Rose smirked slightly but didn't allow herself to be distracted, aware that the TARDIS was using up power on the voice interface.

'What's your status?' Rose asked calmly, staring into the emotionless eyes of the holo-Doctor.

'_Terminal_.'

Rose frowned. She'd forgotten how literal interfaces could be but it really was the only way for her to communicate meaningfully with the TARDIS.

'How did you end up like this?' she tried instead.

'_Access to the Time Vortex has been permanently disabled; residual power decaying at an exponential rate.'_

'Okay,' said Rose, dragging the word out as the urgency of the situation hit her. When they'd fallen through to the parallel world the first time, the Doctor had said the Time Vortex had been ripped out of the TARDIS. He'd also said that meant the TARDIS was dead. Clearly she was still fighting but Rose wasn't sure she'd be able to fix this on her own. The idea that the TARDIS had been deliberately shut down was unthinkable, but the suggestion that the Doctor had done this was appalling. Whatever had happened to him, Rose would get to the bottom of it but for the moment she needed to push aside her fury and worry for the Doctor and focus on saving the TARDIS.

'I take it that's not what we wanted to hear?' Donna asked quietly from beside her.

Rose shook her head slightly, noting how upset Donna seemed by the news despite the fact that she'd yet to start properly travelling with the Doctor. Again, Rose was struck with the notion that the Doctor really had chosen well in Donna Noble.

'Right then,' Donna declared, standing straight and her eyes blazing challengingly, 'what are we going to do about it?'

Rose looked at her for a moment before breaking out in a broad smile.

'We're going to save her of course!'

'I like the way you think Rose Tyler,' answered Donna, grinning stupidly herself.

'Alright,' Rose said, turning her attention back to the impassive holo-Doctor. 'Is there anything I can do to re-enable your access to the Vortex?'

'_You do not have the required ability_.'

Rose bit back a curse, her fury with the Doctor increasing tenfold. What was going on with him, she thought angrily. She was about to make another request when the holo-Doctor spoke up again.

'_You do not have the required ability to re-establish access to the Time Vortex, Rose Tyler, but you are capable of stabilising the decay and rebooting the emergency power cells.'_

'Alright,' Rose agreed, sharing a relieved look with Donna. 'That's something. How do I do that?'

'_I will instruct you, Rose Tyler_.'

Donna watched silently as the holo-Doctor guided Rose through a series of intricate and complex steps, several of which involved a trip below the grating floor to "re-polarise" and "synchronise" various objects. Occasionally the holo-Doctor would turn to Donna, fixing his impassive gaze on her before instructing her to find a particular item on the console and operate it as necessary. It was time-consuming work and neither woman could say how long they'd been working on the TARDIS. The instructions they were following required all of their attention and it became quite clear to both Rose and Donna that operating and understanding the TARDIS was not something humans could ever hope to master.

They were rewarded for their work though sometime later when, as both Rose and Donna finalised their most recent instructions from the holo-Doctor, the lighting surged to life bathing them in rich green golden light and restoring the TARDIS to her normal magnificence. Both Donna and Rose shouted out in triumph, and Rose pulled Donna in for a victory hug; forgetting momentarily that she was still a relative stranger to Donna. The feisty woman didn't seem to mind though, returning the hug just as enthusiastically as they celebrated. Donna's cheer died in her throat though when the brilliant green light just as quickly faded away.

'What!?' Donna cried out in alarm, forgetting that it had been pitch dark when they'd first arrived.

'It's okay,' Rose assured her. 'It's her emergency lighting.'

'We did it?' Donna asked incredulously, recognising the dimmed lighting as the triumph it was. 'We fixed her?'

'Yep,' Rose agreed cheerfully, popping the "p". 'I don't think she'll be able to travel again until the Doctor fixes her, but she's got her emergency power back now. She can start to harvest some of the energy from this universe and cycle back to full strength. With the power back she can start to repair herself.'

'That's brilliant!' Donna crowed, gazing fondly at the central column.

'_Molto Bene!_'

Both Donna and Rose jumped, forgetting the holo-Doctor was still active.

'Bloody hell, Spaceman,' Donna groused. 'You almost gave me a heart attack!'

'_I am not the Doctor. I am a voice interface_,' the holo-Doctor reminded them.

Rose rolled her eyes and Donna muttered something about "spaceships" and "sense of humour".

'Actually,' Rose asked, directing her inquiry to the holo-Doctor as her thoughts returned to the TARDIS' missing pilot, 'what about the Doctor? How do we get him back?'

'_The Doctor is incapacitated at present_.'

'Yeah he thinks he's Peter Vincent,' Donna put in helpfully. 'Any ideas on how to knock some sense back into him?'

The holo-Doctor seemed to find Donna's statement amusing. Impossible really, given it was just a voice interface.

'_You have a phone,_' the holo-Doctor supplied helpfully, his tone as automated as ever.

'What does that mean?' Rose asked in exasperation, looking to Donna to see if she had any ideas. The red-head shrugged, equally as nonplussed by the odd statement.

'_You have a phone_,' the holo-Doctor repeated.

'Fat lot of good that's going to do us –,' Donna began, breaking off though when Rose gasped and darted forward to snatch something off the console.

'You mean _this_ phone?' she asked, brandishing the silver flip-phone triumphantly.

'_That is a phone,_' the holo-Doctor agreed helpfully.

'You're just a fountain of knowledge,' Donna muttered sarcastically. 'Who owns the phone?' she added, hardly expecting a useful answer given the holo-Doctor's track record.

The hologram turned to face them, grinning.

'_Martha Jones.'_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Rose had volunteered to phone Martha Jones, mentioning she'd met her once before. Donna got the distinct impression that that meant Martha Jones hadn't necessarily met Rose Tyler yet. Still she was happy to let Rose handle the situation as she had her own hands full managing Peter. Whilst Rose and Donna had been sorting the TARDIS, Peter had _somehow_ managed to get himself into a "situation" with the publicist he'd been sent to meet with.

Donna had only glanced briefly at a few of the compromising photos that had arrived in her inbox several minutes ago, but already she had several choice words ready for Peter _bloody_ Vincent. Undoubtedly the photos were already being edited into the latest online editions of the tabloids, but with luck she might just manage to prevent the wretched things from making it to print. When Donna Noble got her hands on him Peter Vincent was not going to be a happy man. Of course, that meant she had to _find_ him first.

He'd apparently become aware of the audience mid-way through – Donna really didn't want to know how he'd managed that – and had thus scarpered off the moment he'd realised the photos were going to go viral. She suspected he'd be hiding out at a small café he liked to frequent, but the public venue wasn't going to save him this time. Donna had told him a hundred times that she despised having to deal with the pompous ass Hard Rock employed as their legal agent, and she knew without doubt that this latest incident would mean a trip to _Legal Services_.

Putting the last of the papers she would need into her dark-red folder, a harassed Donna hurried out to the living room to collect her phone and make her goodbyes. Rose was sitting at the countertop, her gaze fixed on Donna's phone as she flipped through the images that were still filtering into the inbox. Her expression was eerily blank, and in that moment Donna wished she'd had the foresight to keep Rose away from her phone. Rose Tyler didn't need to see those pictures.

'The resemblance is uncanny,' Rose commented dispassionately, her gaze remaining fixed on the mobile's screen. 'I believed you when you said he was Peter Vincent, but it really is astonishing.'

Donna had paused just inside the living room but Rose's detached words kicked her back into action, and she quickly hurried forward, wresting the mobile away from Rose without protest.

'They're not worth looking at, Rose,' she said firmly, banishing the mobile to the depths of her handbag without a glance.

For a moment Donna thought Rose was going to protest, but she didn't. Instead she slumped forward, the fight going out of her. She looked much younger all of a sudden and much less sure of herself, and Donna detested that Peter's stupidity had brought out this vulnerability in Rose.

'If he was in his right mind,' Donna promised, 'I'd slap him into next year. As it is, when I find him he'll be lucky if I don't drag him back here by his ear!'

This earned a small chuckle from Rose. Donna didn't expect her to get over the shock immediately, but she was pleased to see some of the life return to Rose's kind hazel eyes.

'Thanks, Donna,' Rose murmured quietly.

'You gonna be alright? I could let him stew for a bit longer if you want?'

'I'm always alright, Donna.'

It was almost convincing.

'_Go_,' Rose prompted earnestly, attempting a reassuring smile. 'If he's anything like the Doctor, leaving him unsupervised never ends well.'

Donna rolled her eyes but she did gather her things.

'Alright, I'm going,' she grumbled, hurrying towards the door. 'Good luck with Martha,' she called, almost as an afterthought, before she disappeared off to find Peter Vincent.

Rose sat at the countertop for a moment longer, thoughts unwillingly fixed on the photos she'd just seen. She was being irrational, and she knew it. Peter Vincent wasn't the Doctor. God, she hadn't even _met_ the man yet, she thought reproachfully. Who was she to judge him? But no matter how rational she attempted to be, Rose couldn't deny that it _hurt_ to see those pictures. Because whoever Peter Vincent turned out to be, he wasn't the person she wanted him to be.

Knowing it would do her no good to dwell on the photos, she attempted to push all thoughts of Peter Vincent out of her mind and instead focused on what she needed to do to get the Doctor back. Pulling Martha Jones' silver phone towards her, Rose flipped it open and navigated to the contacts. She'd already gone through it with Donna and unfortunately all of the contacts had been unfamiliar. Which left them with one option, one possible contact that might lead them to Martha Jones – "_Home"_.

Navigating to the stored number, Rose initiated the call.

'_Hello?_'

The call had been picked up on the second ring. An older woman had answered; probably Martha's mother if Rose had to guess.

'I'm looking for Martha Jones,' Rose replied politely after a moment's hesitation.

'_Who is this?_'

'My name's Rose,' she supplied. 'I'm a friend of the Doctor.'

There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a lengthy silence. Rose supposed it was good that the other person hadn't hung up yet.

'Is Martha there?' she tried tentatively, hoping against hope that the woman wouldn't hang up without at least taking down a message for Martha.

'_Martha hasn't lived here for a long time_.'

The reply was wary, and Rose wondered what had happened to make this woman so distrustful.

'_How did you get this number?_'

'Martha left it with the Doctor,' Rose answered carefully.

'_If you _are _a friend of his, then Martha will know how to get in touch with you._'

There was a sharp click as the woman hung up the phone. Slowly Rose flipped the mobile shut; she'd just have to hope the woman let Martha know she'd called.

o0o

Rose was still sitting at the counter, fiddling with the flip phone in an attempt to focus on anything other than the photos she'd viewed, when Martha's old mobile began to ring. It had been less than five minutes since the call to Martha's home number had been terminated. Rose glanced at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen in surprise. Her message had been passed on much more quickly than she'd anticipated. There could only be one person who still knew this phone's number. As the phone rang for the third time Rose connected the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

'Hello, Martha Jones.'

If Martha was surprised by the greeting it didn't show.

'_I was under the impression you were trapped in a parallel world._'

The words were cold, and there was intensity behind them that Rose hadn't expected. She had to remind herself that this wasn't the Martha she'd met a week ago. For now, they were strangers to each other.

'Trapped isn't exactly the word I'd use these days,' Rose supplied calmly, moderating her tone to sound non-threatening whilst remaining honest. 'But yes, for all intents and purposes I no longer live in this world.'

There was silence for a moment as Martha mulled the explanation over. Rose knew for certain that Martha would want more of an explanation but it would have to be enough for now.

'_Where's the Doctor?_'

As expected, Martha had prioritised. Rose ignored the question.

'Are you near a computer, Martha?' she asked instead, hopeful that Martha would go with her on this.

'_What?_'

'Google "Peter Vincent",' Rose requested insistently, knowing she'd caught Martha off guard. There was silence on the other end of the line, and Rose could sense Martha was hesitant to comply with the request.

'Please.'

The plea seemed to break through and the sound of a keyboard being used echoed down the line. There was a sudden sharp intake of breath.

'_What are you playing at?' _Martha accused angrily. '_That's not funny. Put the Doctor on now. You must be with him if you're using this phone._'

'I can't, Martha,' Rose answered honestly. 'He's not here.'

'_Is this a joke!? Where did you find this Vincent bloke?_'

Rose could tell that Martha was _angry_. But behind the anger she could detect the smallest amount of fear and uncertainty.

'It's not a joke, Martha,' Rose replied calmly, attempting to defuse the situation. 'Look,' she tried instead, 'when did you last see him?'

Martha said nothing and Rose realised she had seconds to salvage the conversation.

'You don't trust me, Martha,' she said frankly, opting for as much honesty as she could impart over the phone. 'And that's fine. You're right. I shouldn't be in this universe but here I am, for better or for worse.'

Rose let out a deep breath, willing herself to finish what she'd started.

'I can't answer your question because it's complicated and I _know_,' she hurried to add before Martha could cut across her. 'I _know_ that's not the answer you want to hear but it's the _only_ one I can give you at the moment. I'm asking you to give me a chance, Martha – for the Doctor's sake.'

Rose trailed off and let her explanation sink in. She'd only met Martha briefly as they'd towed the Earth home, but if there was one thing she understood about Martha Jones it was her _loyalty_ to the Doctor. This was the woman who'd been prepared to blow herself and the Earth up for the sake of the universe.

The silence stretched on but finally Martha spoke up.

'_I haven't seen him since June_.'

Martha sounded resigned but there was something else in her tone – regret or sorrow – and Rose wondered what had happened in June.

'_I don't think he's been on Earth for awhile now_,' Martha continued hesitantly. '_Although he must have been at Christmas._'

'Christmas?'

'_Flying replica of the Titanic?' _Martha questioned dubiously, as though she couldn't believe Rose had needed to ask. '_Nearly crashed into the Palace...right, parallel world. I forgot_.'

'Yeah,' Rose agreed, dragging the word out slightly as she tried to remember just when her life had become so complex.

'_Who is Peter Vincent?_' Martha asked cautiously into the silence, her curiosity sparked.

'We don't know,' Rose answered honestly, some of her frustration inching into her tone. 'Not really. We think he could be the Doctor.'

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. It caught Rose by surprise because she couldn't understand what hidden meaning Martha had discerned from her answer. She waited a few seconds to see if Martha would say something but when it became clear she wouldn't, Rose continued.

'The TARDIS led us to you, Martha,' she finished emphatically. 'We were hoping you might know something.'

Rose trailed off leaving the ball in Martha's court. There was heavy silence for a few seconds before Martha spoke.

'_Is he still in Las Vegas?_'

'Yeah,' Rose answered in surprise. In the background she could hear the sounds of typing and the occasional click of a mouse. 'He's stationed at Hard Rock Casino at the moment,' Rose supplied, needing to fill the silence. 'That's where we're staying.'

There was the sound of more rapid typing and a few more clicks before Martha finally broke the silence.

'_I'll see you in three days. Don't let him leave Vegas_.'

Rose was so shocked by the sudden order that it took her a few moments to process that the annoying sound in her ear was the dial tone. Martha had hung up on her.

o0o

The bell above the door tinkled cheerfully as Donna stormed into the small café that was tucked away on the outskirts of the Strip. In reality it was probably more of a diner than a café, but Donna refused to use the local colloquialism. She was much too British for "diner". She paused just inside the doorway, scanning the small diner with a practiced eye. There was an excited gasp from a small group that had gathered around the back booth, and Donna's gaze zeroed in on the source of the excitement. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a familiar mop of brown hair. He sat at the table, thankfully appropriately dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a thigh-length leather jacket, and was entertaining a small crowd of young women. As she approached the table she could see he was performing one of his numerous card tricks – apparently he was quite capable of standard illusionist tricks in addition to his vampire work. If she hadn't been so mad at him she might have been inclined to watch.

He was so immersed in his trick that it wasn't until Donna was directly in his sight line, having managed to manoeuvre herself into the seat opposite him, that he realised she'd found him. The card he'd been manipulating momentarily escaped his grasp in his surprise, and it was only with impossibly quick reflexes that he managed to recapture the card before the trick was ruined. He finished the routine with a flourish rather quickly after that, attempting to incite his small audience into demanding another demonstration – undoubtedly in an attempt to distract Donna – but she'd had enough of his games.

'I'm afraid that's all _Mr_ Vincent has time for this afternoon,' Donna addressed the crowd, daring Peter to contradict her. 'His show, _Fright_ _Night_, is currently in residence at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, and tickets can be purchased either online or from the Hotel Entertainment Desk located in the lobby of Hard Rock. _Mr_ Vincent is truly appreciative of your ongoing support and interest in his work.'

Never let it be said that Donna Noble would pass up an opportunity to promote her client. The group of fans seemed to get the message, but they were dispersing far too slowly for Donna's liking. She glared pointedly at Peter, who knew very well that lending his voice to the cause would hasten the dispersal, but he seemed reluctant to aid the process which would leave him alone with Donna. Deliberately, she kicked him under the table.

'_Ow_!' he hissed, quietly enough that only Donna would be able to hear him. 'What the _fuck_ was that for!?'

'You know perfectly well what that was for, you great big baby,' Donna fired back, smirking at his discomfort. 'Now get rid of your fans before I decide that public humiliation might be _good_ for your image.'

Peter recognised the threat for what it was. He glared once at her before returning his attention to the few remaining fans – a group of giggly young women – that apparently hadn't gotten the message.

'Sorry _ladies_,' he drawled, laying the charm on thick as he leaned back in his chair. 'You heard the _dragon-lady_. And the _dragon-lady's_ word is law.'

He glared pointedly at Donna, as though daring her to contradict herself and stop him from dismissing the girls. She forced herself to laugh along with the girls, all the while glaring daggers at Peter.

'Like she said,' he continued on, ignoring Donna's glare. 'I'm at Hard Rock. If you make it along one night make sure you come backstage afterwards. I'd love to see you all again. I'm certain we can have a bit of _fun_ after the show,' he finished boldly, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

The girls giggled before finally moving off, Donna watching Peter as he unashamedly ogled them as they left. He caught her staring as he turned back to the table, raising a suggestive eyebrow as he pointedly rearranged his constricting trousers.

'You are repulsive,' Donna accused disgustedly, signalling the waiter for a coffee and resigning herself to another pointless discussion with Peter.

'Fuck off, Donna,' he groaned, reaching for the Midori bottle he'd ordered. 'You're such a prude. There's nothing wrong with being appreciative towards _my _fans.'

'There _is _a problem when you behave like a testosterone fuelled rabbit in _public_,' she snapped angrily, grabbing the Midori before he could grasp it.

'We were in her _office_,' he argued furiously, scowling at his captured Midori. 'That's hardly _public_. Now give me back my fucking drink.'

'Her _open plan office_,' Donna shot back hysterically. 'You were surrounded by her co-workers and in full view of at least one office worker with a bloody camera phone. You're lucky you haven't been arrested yet. As it happens, I managed to convince several higher-ups that charging you with public indecency wasn't worth their time. So you tell me, Peter,' Donna continued acidly, 'because I _really_ want to understand what goes on in that _thick_ head of yours: at what point did you think it was "alright" to stop working on the article and instead start working on your _fucking_ hard on?'

Peter looked momentarily stunned by Donna's outburst, but his surprise faded away to be replaced by his normal self-assured and smug expression.

'So you _do_ have a filthy mouth,' he answered in delight, his expression becoming suggestive as he deliberately looked her over. 'Talking about fucking is such a boring way to use that mouth though,' he continued lecherously. 'I can think of several uses for that filthy mouth of yours that you just might enjoy, Donna –'

_CRACK!_

Donna's hand collided with Peter's cheek so forcefully that he slid out of the booth, landing in an undignified heap on the floor. Gathering her folder, Donna gracefully extracted herself from the booth so that she was standing over him. She looked down her nose at the stranger who wore the Doctor's facade and wondered how she'd ever thought the Doctor was still there. Whatever was going on, Donna would fix it with Rose. She didn't need Peter Vincent. And with that thought she realised she'd come to a decision.

'I'm done with you,' she declared and without looking back she left the diner.

It was a few moment's more before Peter had the sense to pick himself up off the floor, scowling darkly as he attempted to regain his dignity. Deliberately he slid back into the booth and reclaimed the Midori, taking a defiant swig as he attempted to remain unaffected by Donna's action.

He'd fucked up. He'd let his stupid mouth get away from him, and he'd managed to push away the only person in the stinking world he might just have been able to call a _friend_. He'd known the moment he'd seen the grinning loon filming him with the publicist that Donna was going to be angry. And he'd known exactly why she was going to be angry because he'd known what he'd been doing was inappropriate. Not only that, he _was_ ashamed. He'd gone and fucked some publicist in the hopes of gaining some respite from his fucked up dreams, knowing full well that five minutes of gratification wasn't going to solve anything. And despite all of that, it still hadn't stopped him from pressing Donna's buttons.

_Ashamed. Miserable. Lonely. Fucked_.

That's all he was – and he knew it. But he'd be damned if he ever let Donna _fucking _Noble know just how much her decision to leave was hurting him.

o0o

Rose was looking over some of Donna's notes from the past month when the woman herself re-entered the apartment. It took one glance at her for Rose to realise something was wrong.

'Donna?' she called hesitantly as Donna made a beeline for her bedroom.

Rose followed after a moment, encouraged by the fact that Donna had left the door open. She was lying stretched out on the bed, her dark-red folder thrown carelessly against the closet, with a pillow placed deliberately over her head. Tentatively, Rose knocked on the doorframe to announce her presence. When Donna made no protest she assumed it would be alright to enter.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

It was clear something was wrong so Rose didn't bother with the useless "are you alright?"

There was a muffled groan from beneath the pillow, and Rose got the impression Donna had just attempted a sentence. Relieved to hear that Donna was still capable of speech – she couldn't really imagine Donna curled up on bed crying – Rose seated herself on the edge of the bed.

'Sorry, Donna, you'll have to take the pillow off. Not even the TARDIS can translate muffled pillow talk.'

There was a weak laugh from beneath the pillow before Donna finally dragged it away and hauled herself up into a sitting position, resting against the rich oak headboard of the King bed.

'I said, I hope you had some luck with Martha Jones,' Donna supplied dutifully.

'I don't know if I was successful, as such,' Rose answered honestly, somewhat surprised by the question. 'But you can ask her yourself when she gets here.'

'What!?' Donna spluttered. 'She's coming to Vegas?'

'Apparently,' admitted Rose, letting herself collapse backwards so that she was staring up at the ceiling. 'That's the impression I got anyway when she said she'd see me in three days.'

Donna's face came into view as she loomed over Rose, watching her in concern.

'Well that's good news, isn't it? She _must_ know something if she's prepared to fly all the way out here at the drop of a hat.'

Rose let out a sigh.

'I suppose it is. I just got the impression she wasn't particularly happy to hear from me.'

'But she hasn't met you yet? Has she?' Donna asked in confusion, moving out of the way so that Rose could sit up properly and the pair could face each other.

'No,' Rose replied miserably. 'But she seemed to know who I was so I guess the Doctor must have said something to her.'

'I can't imagine him saying anything _bad_ about you, Rose,' Donna replied surely, clearly finding the idea absurd.

'That's what I'm worried about,' Rose admitted quietly, before deftly turning the conversation away from Martha Jones. 'But enough about me,' she continued, fixing Donna with a concerned look. 'What happened to you Donna? You were only gone forty minutes; he can't have done anything worse in that time? Could he?' Rose added in alarm when Donna remained silent.

In fact, the closer Rose looked the more aware she became that Donna looked miserable. Catching sight of Rose's scrutiny, she offered a weak smile before dragging herself off the bed and into the kitchen. Rose immediately followed, but it wasn't until Donna had taken the first sip of her cup of tea that she finally spoke up.

'I quit,' she admitted flatly.

'Oh...'

'Yeah,' Donna agreed.

'Did you want to go home?' Rose asked gently, knowing that Donna's room at the casino was tied to her contract. 'I'd understand if you wanted to, you know,' she added, offering Donna an out if she wanted.

Although it would be lonely staying in Vegas by herself Rose was loathe to pressure Donna into staying when she'd clearly reached her breaking point. Donna hadn't said too much about her month with Peter Vincent but she'd said enough for Rose to realise that it had been incredibly stressful. Her persistence in sticking with Peter was even more admirable when one remembered that she'd only met the Doctor once.

'And leave you here by yourself!?' Donna exclaimed. 'Course not, you idiot! Mind you, we'll probably have to downsize the accommodation.'

Rose laughed, thankful that Donna could still find humour in the situation. She sobered though when she recalled how shaken Donna had been when she'd returned to the apartment.

'What did he do, Donna?' Rose asked gently.

'That obvious, huh?'

'A bit, yeah.'

'Doesn't even matter what he was doing,' Donna began wearily after a moment's silence. 'He just kept pushing and pushing. He knew I was annoyed, but he just kept at it until finally I just _snapped_. I hit him, Rose,' she admitted frankly, noting Rose's poorly concealed surprise. 'Properly assaulted him and it drives me mad because I'm _better_ than that. I'm better than _him_ but he pulled me down to his level and I _let _him. That's when I knew I had to quit,' she finished tonelessly. 'Because I refuse to be that _vulgar_ woman.'

'Good for you, Donna Noble!' Rose declared, raising her own tea cup in a mock toast. It would probably make it a little bit harder to keep an eye on Peter, but it was Donna's decision and Rose trusted her judgement. Besides, she found it hard to be charitable in her thoughts towards Peter Vincent whilst the photos from that morning still weighed heavily on her mind.

o0o

Donna decided she was in no hurry to leave the lavish apartment she'd been given and would happily continue to use the services until either Hard Rock or Peter gave her notice to vacate the premises. Her newfound philosophy had also extended to taking full advantage of the amenities. During her stay at Hard Rock she had been quite modest in her use of room service in the knowledge that Peter was ultimately footing the bill. Now though, that knowledge was no longer a deterrent and Donna had no qualms in ordering a _very_ expensive dinner accompanied by a _Pingus_ red that had been listed as "price on request".

Rose had said nothing as she'd listened to Donna call down to the concierge, but she had raised her eyebrows slightly at the choice of wine.

'Don't worry,' Donna said as she hung up the phone, feeling slightly guilty for the excessive order, 'if we haven't been kicked out by tomorrow morning I'll leave myself.'

'Actually I was surprised by your wine choice,' Rose admitted. 'That particular Pingus can be quite tannic although the finish is _stunning_.'

Donna gaped.

'Oh right,' Rose amended sheepishly. 'I forgot to mention my dad's a billionaire in the parallel world. I've picked up a _lot_ about wine in the past few years.'

Donna raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Rose Tyler was certainly an enigma. She was about to comment when her mobile rang yet again – the annoying jingle only slightly muffled by the kitchen drawer Donna had stuffed it into.

Rose glanced pointedly towards the drawer.

'Are you sure you don't want to answer that? Whoever it is, they're pretty persistent.'

"Pretty persistent" was putting it lightly. If Donna had been counting she'd estimate she'd had close to fifty missed calls since she'd walked out on Peter. They'd been increasing in regularity as show time crept nearer. It was no surprise to Donna that of the thirty or so calls that she'd bothered to screen they had come from almost every member of the production bar Peter himself. It appeared Vampire boy had no interest in contacting her. Donna just hoped he'd have the gumption to show up to his wretched _Fright Night_ so that she might at least get some peace for a few hours whilst the show ran.

'It'll be Francesca,' Donna stated with certainty. 'It's the ten-minute call backstage. You think he could have had the decency to let them know I'd quit,' she added petulantly.

Any further thoughts of _Fright Night_ were pushed aside by the arrival of their entrée. If the waiter found it odd that Donna wasn't downstairs he said nothing, quietly placing the plates of lobster ravioli down and accepting his generous tip with genuine thanks. By the time they'd finished the entrée Donna's phone had ceased its insistent ringing and the evening was able to progress without hindrance. The wine flowed freely and by the time dessert was delivered and they'd settled in for a stock standard romantic comedy the pair were both more than a little tipsy. Donna barely registered that it had just gone ten – the evening's show would be over if it had run on time – as she fumbled for the remote. Rose, slightly less inebriated than Donna, was certain she'd heard someone call out and had insisted the television be temporarily muted. Donna had just successfully managed to do so – without falling off the couch, thank you very much – when the unmistakeable sound of someone at the door reached them.

'Donna, this is ridiculous, I'm coming in if you don't answer in the next minute!'

Donna promptly fell off the couch as she realised it was Peter. He sounded annoyed, and Donna briefly wondered how long he'd been banging on the door before immediately realising it didn't bother her. Rose had clearly recognised the voice as well.

'Donna, it's _him_!' Rose declared seriously, helpfully pointing out the obvious. The fact that they were both a little beyond tipsy didn't lend itself to conducting whispered conferences.

'I can bloody well hear that,' Donna groused, not realising just how loudly they were talking. 'What's he doing sneaking around up here anyway? He should be upstairs with some bimbo by now!'

'What do we do?' Rose continued urgently, accidentally knocking her dessert plate flying in her haste to beat a retreat. 'He can't see me!'

The sound of Rose's plate crashing to the floor was apparently audible enough for Peter to hear it from outside the front door.

'Donna!?' he called again.

If Donna hadn't been so drunk she'd have thought he'd almost sounded worried.

'That's it, I'm coming in,' Peter continued, clearly taking her non-answer as an invitation.

For a full second Donna shared a horrified look with Rose before the sound of the key card in the door prompted her into action.

'Into the bedroom,' she hissed, shoving Rose ungraciously through the doorway which was conveniently hidden from the front door eye line. Donna had just enough time to shut the door before Peter appeared in the living room.

Uncharacteristically he was dressed almost normally Donna noted, in dark trousers with a blazer worn over a button down shirt. The wig and goatee ensemble were missing, but the lingering remnants of stage make-up indicated he _had_ in fact performed that evening. His current presence in her apartment so rapidly post _Fright Night_ was thus some kind of record given his tendency to "entertain" fans post show.

'Is someone here?' Peter asked suspiciously as the silence between them dragged on.

His question brought Donna back to the present and was a timely reminder that she was currently rather annoyed with Peter Vincent.

'No,' she snapped defiantly, attempting to herd Peter away from the bedroom and towards the kitchen countertop.

'I heard talking,' Peter accused, glancing pointedly towards the two wine glasses and Rose's discarded plate.

'Even if there _was_ someone here, Peter Vincent,' Donna answered, pushing Peter hard in the chest so that he was forced to move, 'and I'm not saying there is – but even if there was: what business would it be of _yours_?'

Donna realised her declaration would have been much more impressive if she'd managed to deliver it _without_ slurring. Peter obviously thought so too because he seemed very eager to point that out.

'You're drunk!' he realised smugly. 'Donna – _don't you touch that drink_ – Noble is properly pissed,' he crowed, doing a fairly passable impression of the expression Donna used on him every time she caught him with a drink.

Donna scowled darkly at him but let the comment pass.

'What are you doing in _my_ apartment?' she demanded. 'And how the hell did you get in?' she added as an afterthought.

Her words seemed to sober Peter and any amusement he'd gained from realising she was _tipsy_ faded away. He stood before Donna now with all the uncertainty of a young child incongruously coupled with the unhappiness of a much older and much more world-weary man. In that single instant it was the Doctor who looked out from the timeless brown eyes.

'You _gave_ me your spare key weeks ago,' he supplied unhappily, clearly upset that he'd had to remind her. The unspoken insinuation that she'd given the key to him as a _friend _hung heavily between them.

'That doesn't explain why you're here now,' Donna pointed out after an uncomfortable silence.

Peter stared at her for a long moment before finally seeming to find his courage. His hand ran through his hair before coming to rest on his neck where he rubbed at the short hairs nervously.

'I came to apologise,' he admitted candidly, the words rushing out in his haste to speak them.

The fact that Peter had sought her out after the show had been a surprise, but the idea that he was now apologising to her was almost unimaginable. Donna wasn't sure how to respond so she simply raised an eyebrow, daring him to surprise her further.

He seemed to take the gesture as a challenge, letting out a gush of air as he realised she'd require further convincing of his sincerity.

'I'm not sure what I can say to make up for today...and probably a number of other times actually, now that I think about it. Except,' he added, hastily getting back on track as he caught sight of Donna's unimpressed gaze. 'Except that I haven't been your friend, Donna. Not really.

'I don't listen when you're right, I rarely do what you ask, I force you to spend time with that dick headed lawyer you can't stand, and I deliberately antagonise you when you're only trying to help.'

Donna let out a snort, still sceptical of the sincerity behind the apology. It was all very well for him to list his many faults, she thought haughtily but she could do that just as easily herself. In fact she had done so, several times.

'I'm not making any promises,' Peter continued on doggedly, 'because I'm terrible at keeping them, but I do know that you deserve better. I don't have any friends, Donna,' he finished quietly, 'not since I stupidly let you walk out of that café.'

He paused deliberately for a moment, his gaze coming to rest meaningfully upon Donna – as though she were the most important being in the universe.

'Donna Noble, will you –'

Peter suddenly broke off, his features morphing into comical horror as his words caught up to him and he realised just how similar they were to a proposal. Donna gaped at him, almost equally horrified as the unwelcome idea of Peter proposing to her settled in her mind. Peter seemed to recover much more quickly than Donna; shaking the idea off with ease. Her ongoing – and in Peter's view – extreme aversion to the idea was somewhat of a blow to his ego. Although he too found the idea of _marriage_ to Donna equally unappealing, he didn't feel the need to carry on about it.

'Oh for –' he began, intent on telling Donna just how ridiculous her reaction was but was cut off as Donna's horror morphed into outright amusement. Catching sight of her smirk, Peter threw his hands up in the air, declaring to all and sundry just how stupid he'd been.

'I fucked up, Donna,' he said frankly, his tone begrudging. 'Happy?'

He pulled a face at Donna – one she was certain belonged purely to those below the age of five – before crossing his arms and staring her down. The glare was for show though; amusement, sincerity and the smallest smidgen of uncertainty lurked just beneath the surface, obvious to those who took the time to look.

'Now would you please come back to work?' he continued gruffly, clearly uncomfortable with Donna's scrutiny. 'Preferably _before_ I'm forced to hire Francesca permanently?'

The decision was easy really, when Donna thought about it. The apology had reminded her strongly of the Doctor, but it wasn't the apology that made her willing to give Peter a second chance. It was the fact that _Peter Vincent_ had used the name "Francesca". He was still just as coarse and gruff and undoubtedly would remain just as lewd as ever, but the simple courtesy of using Ginger's proper name led Donna to believe that somewhere behind those lonely, confused and uncertain brown eyes lurked a man with a good heart. Peter Vincent was a troubled man, of that Donna had no doubt, but she knew now that he had the potential to be so much more. And for that alone, she was willing to give him a second chance.

She let him stew for a moment longer, amused somewhat as he shifted beneath her purposefully blank gaze before finally putting him out of his misery.

'Oh, fine,' she declared grumpily, although there was no real bite to her words. 'But this time _you're_ going to go see my lovely friend, Mr Pompous Ass, and you will do _exactly_ what is asked of you to fix up _your_ little mess.'

Peter rolled his eyes but he agreed.

'And one more thing, Peter,' Donna added seriously, 'the next time you pull a stunt like the one this morning, I _won't_ be bailing you out. Is that clear?'

'Crystal,' Peter supplied seriously.

'Well then,' said Donna, her tone becoming friendly once more, 'if that's all, I'll talk to you in the morning.'

Peter recognised the dismissal for what it was and obligingly made his way to the door. On the threshold he paused, glancing back towards the bedroom door before fixing Donna with an approving look.

'Make sure you give them a kiss for me, eh, Donna?'

Donna didn't dignify the suggestion with an answer, opting instead to simply shut the door rather swiftly in Peter's face. An amused chuckle from the other side of the door told her she'd been unsuccessful in uniting the door with Peter's nose, but she supposed there would be other opportunities. Feeling much more light-hearted, Donna let all thoughts of Peter Vincent disappear and instead went to retrieve Rose from the bedroom. After all, there was a trashy romantic comedy to finish.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

Rose had spent the past three days cooped up in Donna's apartment so the opportunity to pick Martha up from the airport seemed like a Godsend. Despite the _very_ early hour, Rose found herself to be in good spirits. Even the rather daunting task of introducing herself to Martha couldn't put a damper on the discovery she'd made the previous evening. After going through Donna's notes on her time in Las Vegas, and pages upon pages of press clippings, Rose had finally found the time to examine Peter Vincent's website. It was there that she'd found the only two words that could go some way to explaining her situation: Bad Wolf.

The company that managed Peter Vincent's website was listed as _BadWolfCo_. Rose had briefly researched the company and discovered that much like "Peter Vincent" the company didn't truly exist and had only ever been active once – the date Peter Vincent had come into being. The discovery had left Rose feeling relieved as the presence of Bad Wolf made things simpler. Clearly she was _meant_ to be part of events as they unfolded around Peter Vincent, which gave her clearance to leave Donna's apartment. Additionally Rose was certain now that interacting with Peter would not destroy the universe; something Donna was bound to be thankful for as she was being driven up the wall by Peter's not so subtle attempts to discover the identity of her "mystery caller", as he'd deemed Rose. It seemed the idea that Donna had had a guest the night he'd come to apologise was incredibly intriguing, and after three days of endless sexual innuendo jokes Donna had had enough.

However, Rose's discovery raised as many questions as it answered: how was Peter Vincent linked to Bad Wolf? Why had the Dimension Cannon stopped working? How had Peter known who Donna was? And how was she going to return to the parallel universe?

There was no point dwelling on the difficult questions at present though, Rose thought reasonably as she entered the McCarran International Airport. Not when she'd spent the last three days attempting – unsuccessfully – to come up with some answers. Besides, the TARDIS's advice to contact Martha Jones had to be worth something. In fact, Rose was certain that Martha held the answer to some of her conundrums.

As she entered Terminal 3, Rose was pleased to note that Martha's flight had already landed and the passengers were currently making their way through customs. She'd left the driver waiting at the loading zone in favour of catching a glimpse of Martha before she arrived at their agreed upon rendezvous point. It was always intriguing how people behaved when they were unaware that they were being observed, and such observations could be invaluable. Thus, Rose had succumbed to temptation and was staking out the exit. After all, at this point in time Martha Jones was an unknown variable to her. Taking up a position off to the side, Rose was able to quietly observe the newcomers as they filtered out from customs. She spotted Martha the moment she stepped into view – one advantage of time travel – but Martha was not to be outdone. As she was pushed along by the crowd as they mindlessly wound a path towards baggage claim, Rose could see Martha was efficiently scanning the crowd. It didn't take her very long to single Rose out.

Catching Martha's gaze, Rose inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement before slipping away to the agreed upon rendezvous point. Not long after, Martha arrived at the loading zone; a compact black roller bag by her side.

'Hello, Martha Jones,' Rose greeted formally, offering her hand for Martha to shake.

The other woman took the hand swiftly all the while eying Rose suspiciously.

'How did you know who I was in the crowd?' she demanded. 'You were watching me the moment I came out.'

Rose was impressed that Martha had noticed her, but the loading zone was no place for a discussion of such delicate matters.

'Let's just say,' Rose acquiesced tightly, 'that we didn't quite meet in the correct order.'

Martha's eyes widened slightly in understanding and she raised no further objections, settling for a tight nod of agreement instead.

'I'll explain properly over breakfast,' Rose promised, herding Martha into the chauffeur driven company car that had come with Donna's contract. Obligingly the driver had already sequestered Martha's luggage into the boot and within minutes they were speeding down the relatively empty roads of Downtown Vegas.

The drive was entirely silent except for the brief instructions Rose issued to the driver regarding their destination. Twenty minutes later they pulled up at the small diner – _The Dime_ – which was hidden away in the outskirts of town, and had been endorsed by Donna as "tolerable". The driver let them out, tipped his cap, and drove off to find a car park until he was next required.

The morning was still a bit chilly out – nothing like the London winter though – and Rose was grateful to find the diner appropriately warm. They settled into one of the quaint booths, and as the only patrons for the time being were eagerly assaulted by the cheerful waitress. Rose ordered a coffee and a breakfast bagel before looking expectantly towards Martha. She glanced at the menu quickly before ordering herself a double shot coffee and a small bowl of muesli. Finally the overbearing waitress left them alone and the pair was free to talk.

'So you're, Rose,' Martha stated frankly, breaking the silence.

Rose nodded, noting with interest how Martha silently sized her up. There was curiosity in the other woman's gaze, but also wariness and a deep seated confusion – as though Martha couldn't decide whether she liked Rose or not – which was odd, Rose thought, because Martha had never met her before today.

'This isn't the first time I've met you, Martha, but I'm almost certain that this _is_ the first time you've met me. Yet we seem to have gotten off to a bad start...'

Rose's tone wasn't accusatory, rather it was honest and laced with open curiosity. There was clearly some kind of history with Martha that she was entirely unaware of, which complicated the situation. Torchwood had taught Rose a hell of a lot about teamwork, and if she, Martha, and Donna were to work effectively as a team to aid the Doctor, then they all needed to be on the same page – or as close to possible without causing a rip in the time-space continuum. And for that to happen she and Martha apparently needed to clear the air, Rose realised. To her credit, Martha had the grace to look somewhat ashamed at being called out, which gave Rose hope that they'd be able to sort things out.

Martha sighed. 'You're right,' she admitted tiredly. 'I'm out of line.'

Of course, the waitress chose that exact moment to deliver their drinks.

The timing was just so typical that Rose couldn't help but laugh the moment the oblivious girl left them alone. A moment later Martha joined in, and as the pair laughed at the entire situation and their own stubbornness and stupidity, the tension between them disappeared.

'God, aren't we a pair!?' Martha chuckled ruefully. 'I'd blame the long flight, but that's not really fair on either of us. You deserve a better explanation than that, and I think,' Martha suggested hesitantly. 'I think I deserve some answers.'

'Oh, Martha Jones,' Rose said knowingly, because she'd finally realised what it was that was bothering Martha. 'I know you do.'

o0o

Over breakfast and a second order of coffees, Rose Tyler told her story.

She told Martha about the day she'd met the Doctor, and how he'd changed her life: from "run" to "Bad Wolf Bay" – the first time – with all the bits in between. She never mentioned the stars going out or the fact that a universe away a part-human Time Lord was waiting for her to return, and if Martha guessed there were things Rose was leaving out she understood that it was necessary and never pushed. But most importantly Rose told Martha about meeting Sarah Jane Smith. Because Rose understood what it was like to travel with the Doctor; this incredible, wonderful, and _utterly_ alien man. And she understood just how easy it was to fall in love with him.

If the Doctor wandered into your life, he changed you forever. That was the price companions paid in return for travelling with the Doctor. He'd give you the stars and it was a _privilege_ to experience them with him. The decision to travel with him was never regretted, but Rose also understood the Doctor better now than she ever had before. In his own way he loved _all_ of his companions. But eventually he _had_ to move on – for their sakes as much as for his own – because he couldn't stand goodbyes. And it was the realisation that the Doctor's forever would _never_ match your own that was the hardest lesson a companion had to learn.

Rose Tyler had learnt that lesson, and so had Martha Jones.

Over a shared pot of tea – a surprisingly pleasant brew – Martha Jones told her story.

She told Rose about a trip to the moon, which included a kiss, and an offer of a trip in the TARDIS. That trip extended into two and eventually Martha had made it permanently aboard the TARDIS. Her travels with the Doctor seemed to feature unintentionally lengthy stays in various time periods, including 1969. They'd also spent three months in 1913, but Martha wouldn't elaborate on that particular adventure – not until she'd met Peter Vincent, she'd specified. Finally, Martha told Rose about travelling to the end of the universe and the year that never was.

Rose listened in growing horror to the tale Martha weaved of a psychotic Time Lord found at the end of the universe, her family's enslavement, the Doctor's year of captivity, and her own terrifying travels as she'd wandered the world alone. It was amazing, Rose thought, that Martha was doing as well as she was only six months on from her experiences. Her strong recovery though was apparently somewhat attributable to UNIT. The first two months after she'd left the Doctor, Martha had spent at home with her parents – her medical degree on hiatus – before a Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart had appeared on her doorstep.

Rose had heard of UNIT and knew they were old associates of the Doctor, but she'd never encountered the group herself. From Martha's description they sounded very much like Pete Tyler's version of Torchwood: defenders of the Earth minus the superiority complex Yvonne Hartman's led Torchwood had had. The Doctor had apparently made a recommendation to the Brigadier, and he'd sought Martha out to offer her a job as a fully qualified – sanctioned by UNIT – Medical Officer. Martha had accepted the job on the spot. She'd known it would be sometime before she truly came to terms with the ordeal that she'd gone through, but she'd also known that she'd have gone mad if she'd spent another day sitting around her parent's home.

UNIT was incredibly supportive of Martha and her family, and over the past four months Martha had finally managed to get her life back on track. Her work at UNIT was highly rewarding and she was well respected by the taskforce. In fact, UNIT was partly responsible for how Martha had managed to make it out to Las Vegas so quickly. When Rose had phoned Martha, she'd gone straight to the Brigadier and informed him of her suspicions regarding the Doctor. Sir Alistair had happily signed off Martha's leave and ensured that her flights and accommodation were booked, and thus three days later Martha had found herself flying to Las Vegas – courtesy of UNIT. The Brigadier's only stipulation had been that if there was alien involvement, Martha would be required to submit a written report upon her return. Otherwise, he'd wished her well and asked her to pass his regards on to the Doctor – whichever face that man's wearing now, he'd finished gruffly.

Towards the end of Martha's explanation, Rose's phone had buzzed rudely across the table as it received a heavily sarcastic text message from Donna, which helpfully included directions home from Mars should Rose need them. It took another three similarly worded messages before the pair finally left the diner – Rose supplying a generous tip – and made their way back to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Martha was also staying in the hotel, but a few floors below Donna's luxury apartment. As the chauffeur ferried them back to the hotel, Rose explained just who Donna was and the role she'd been playing in Las Vegas for the past month since her mysterious job offer from Peter Vincent.

Rose had sent a text to Donna letting her know they were on their way back to the hotel, but she was still surprised to find Donna waiting for them in the lobby of the hotel.

'About time!' Donna declared loudly, jumping up from her seat in the lobby as she caught sight of Rose. '"I won't be long, Donna,"' she mimicked with great accuracy. '"I'll just pick Martha up from the airport." Do you have _no_ concept of time?' she finished in annoyance, although there was no real sting to her words; rather her eyes were alight with curiosity as she took in Martha Jones.

'We got caught up,' Rose offered lamely. 'Sorry,' she added, flailing beneath Donna's sceptical expression.

'It's my fault,' Martha put in graciously. 'I put Rose on the spot and demanded we swap stories immediately. But she's caught me up on everything and I think we're all on the same page now.'

Donna eyed her for a moment longer before finally relaxing.

'Oh don't apologise,' she rushed out, 'I'm only irritated because I've spent the morning listening to Peter's crude jokes. I'm Donna Noble,' she added, offering her hand and a friendly smile to Martha.

'Martha Jones,' Martha replied formally. 'It's a pleasure to meet a future companion of the Doctor,' she added cheekily.

Donna simply rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch.

'Unfortunately, I'm due in a meeting,' she informed them regretfully. 'I'm busy for the rest of the afternoon, but now that there's no problem with Peter seeing you Rose, could you _please_ come down for the show tonight? If Peter makes one more joke about midnight callers, I _will_ throttle him. Plus, it'll be a good opportunity for Martha to see what we're up against. And afterwards you can let him know that you're my mysterious lodger, Rose,' she finished without taking a breath, gathering her omnipresent dark red folder to her before she hurried away to her waiting car.

Martha watched her departure with bemusement.

'Is she always like that?' she asked curiously as they made their way to the check-in desk.

Rose chuckled. She knew very well that Donna Noble could be quite intimidating the first time you met her.

'Nah,' she answered easily. 'Not always.'

Martha looked unconvinced.

'Well,' Rose amended, 'maybe only 98% of the time.'

o0o

Peter rarely inhabited his dressing room prior to going on stage, preferring to keep to his own schedule and wander about as he saw fit. But this evening he was thankful for the small secluded space that would give him a few minutes of privacy before the show. Moving the show to Las Vegas had been rough and it was only now, two months in, that he felt he was finally settling into a routine. The first two weeks had been terrible. He'd struggled through but it was as though he'd stumbled into someone else's life by mistake, and he'd found himself feeling as though he were a stranger in his own body. The idea was preposterous – even Peter didn't buy into that sort of superstitious rubbish – so he'd ended up convincing himself that he'd been given something in New York that had _really_ wasted him.

The experience had been so terrifying that Peter had promised himself he'd never take any offered "experimental" drugs again. Whatever he'd taken had been so powerful that it had been several days before he could recall that Midori was his poison of choice, he disliked cats, and that he could not abide the taste of bagels. He'd been given a bagel on his first day in Vegas, and had subsequently spent twenty minutes staring at the toilet bowl before enduring the remainder of the day with the lingering taste of sick in his mouth. It was not an experience he was in any hurry to repeat.

Things had only really started to look up again with the arrival of Donna in February. He hadn't been certain that she'd take up his job offer; not only had the years they'd been parted stacked up considerably, but there was also the possibility that she'd see the offer as an unwanted act of charity. Thankfully, his worries on that front had been unfounded and she'd accepted the job.

Donna was not quite the same as Peter remembered her though. That first night she'd been genuinely surprised by his appearance and had almost seemed uncomfortable in his presence. Eight years without contact _was_ a significant period of time, but it had still hurt to see his best friend confounded by his actions and wary of his motives. She'd finally warmed up to him though and despite a few rough patches, including the unpleasant misunderstanding three days ago, Donna had reclaimed her role as his best friend and secret keeper.

Donna was the only one he'd ever trusted with his childhood secret – after all she'd grown up with him – and she was still just as honourable and trustworthy as ever. As such, she was the only one he'd confided in since he'd arrived in Las Vegas; the only person who knew that he was plagued by dreams in his sleep.

That was why he'd sought out his dressing room this evening; he wanted peace and quiet because he honestly wasn't sure if he could cope anymore. Drinking helped, but he'd promised Donna he wouldn't drink before the show. Thus he'd sought the solitude of his dressing room to count down the minutes until he could guiltlessly get plastered, in the hopes of numbing the night's dreams.

Last night he had once again dreamt of being trapped; held behind the gilded bars of a cage and forced to watch as the planet burned beneath him. It had been pure agony. It was horrific enough to _watch_ Japan burning, but _watching_ was nothing to what he had _felt_. One-hundred and twenty-seven _million_ lives had been extinguished in a nanosecond, and the man Peter Vincent dreamt of had felt _every single one_ of those deaths. And it had _hurt_. It had ripped through his mind like wildfire, overwhelming him as one-hundred and twenty-seven million minds called out in panic and pain and hopelessness. The Doctor had endured it all silently, but in his dreams Peter _knew_ the man had felt each individual death because _Peter_ had felt them. Each death had felt as though he was being slowly pierced with a white hot blade, straight through his heart, and the agony of the experience was inconceivable.

Eventually the sight of Japan engulfed in fire and smoke and death had faded, as it always did, to be replaced with the familiar jeering face of the man who tormented Peter's dreams ceaselessly. In his dream he'd lashed out at the phantom image, only to have the face fade into that of the forlorn blonde woman. As always she'd looked directly at Peter, her gaze endlessly searching for something in him, before she'd turned away sadly and walked away from him. No matter how often he begged her to stay she never did, and Peter _always_ startled from sleep, his eyes wet with tears as he tried to understand why he'd lost her.

The dreams were so familiar now, that Peter had filled pages upon pages of the journal he'd bought on Donna's suggestion with garbled images and foreign words – scribbled down hurriedly in his half-asleep state. He rarely opened the journal in daylight hours and never whilst sober, but he knew without doubt that he had sketched – to near perfection – several images of the lonely spirit that wandered through his dreams. After all, her image had been seared onto the Doctor's hearts long ago.

'_This is your two minute call, Mr Vincent._'

Peter was startled from his thoughts as the countdown call to curtain up came through the internal speakers. The interruption was a welcome distraction, as it bothered Peter how much he allowed himself to dwell on the images of his dreams. "The Doctor" was a figment of Peter's sordid and wretched imagination and _he _had no place in reality. The same rule applied to the blonde woman: she did not exist. The sooner Peter remembered that, the better. Pulling his leather coat on roughly, Peter paused only to stuff the useless fob watch he'd been fiddling with back into his dresser drawer before storming out of his dressing room.

Of course, he ran directly into Donna which did nothing for his mood.

'Where have you been?' she demanded in a furious whisper. 'I've been trying to get you on your IEM for the past fifteen minutes!'

Peter scowled and pointedly waved the earpiece between them, revealing that he'd deliberately left it out. Donna snatched the IEM, which was used as part of an intercom circuit, and roughly shoved it back into his right ear.

'I've got him,' she said, speaking into her headset as she waved over one of the sound crew to fit Peter's microphone for the evening.

He stood still and allowed the technician to place his microphone before Donna grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him along to his starting position. She seemed to be waiting for him to begin complaining. Normally, he would have happily provided Donna with several choice remarks, but this evening he simply didn't have the energy. He was _tired_: both in the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. Tired of his dreams, and tired of his life.

The prospect of performing once again tonight, of repeating the same show he'd done the night before, and the night before that, and seemingly for every night he could ever remember _terrified _him. Because the idea that his life had become _this_ – this never-ending act – seemed inherently wrong, as though his very _being_ rebelled against the idea that he would be doing the same show tomorrow night, and the night after that, and for every fucking night in the foreseeable future.

Peter Vincent wanted to sleep, and he wanted to forget. But more than that, he wanted to _run_.

'Peter, are you alright?'

Donna's concerned voice cut into Peter's thoughts and he realised they were standing on his starting point. They were alone, and Donna had thoughtfully covered the microphone on her headset to lend an air of privacy to the conversation.

'If you're not well, I can call it off,' she continued, her brow furrowing further with worry as he continued to stare into space.

'Right,' Donna said after a moment of silence, 'I'm going to cancel.'

She released the microphone and was about to issue an order – undoubtedly to cancel the show – when Peter finally found his voice.

'No,' he said quietly, but with certainty. 'Don't cancel,' he ordered. 'I'm fine, Donna.'

Donna looked entirely unconvinced and again she moved to say something into her microphone.

'I'm always alright.'

The words were almost silent but Donna heard them. Something uninterpretable passed across her expression, but slowly she let go of her microphone. Still she remained in front of him, and in his ear-piece Peter could hear the countdown to the opening sequence and the stage manager calling for places. She had seconds to get off stage.

'I'm fine, Donna,' he insisted once again. 'Now get off the fucking stage.'

Her eyebrows crept into her hairline as the familiar expletive fell from his lips, but apparently it was enough to get her off the stage – with five seconds to spare. Peter almost regretted her leaving but in the end it changed nothing. He was Peter Vincent: illusionist and vampire expert. That was who he was. He wasn't Peter Vincent: a fucking loony. And if that was true, that meant for the moment his life was _Fright Night._ Even if it meant he had to perform the same _fucking_ show for the rest of his miserable _fucking_ life. If that was what it took to be Peter _fucking _Vincent, then so be it.

He almost managed to believe it as well.

o0o

He'd stumbled through the first half – although the audience seemed none the wiser – and he'd almost made it to the finale when it happened. He was standing very close to the edge of the stage, surrounded by half-naked female vampires as they closed in on him. The remainder of the sequence involved him being captured by the vampires and hoisted upside down above them, as they prepared to kill him. It was a tricky technical sequence, as once he was dangling twenty foot in the air he had two minutes to get out of the bindings before the live fire sequence began, and there was a real risk of being seriously injured if he hadn't managed to escape by then. He could see the girl whose job it was to ensure he was safely hooked to the harness approaching him, and he couldn't help but feel relieved that the night was almost over.

She never managed to get close though because for a moment his attention had wandered, and he'd glanced towards the wings. It was then that he'd seen _her_.

She was watching the show, a small smirk playing about her lips as though she couldn't quite take the events unfolding before her seriously. Only seconds had passed but for Peter it felt as though his whole world had stopped. He could tell the moment she realised he was looking at her because her amusement vanished. A myriad of expressions flitted across her face, most prominently surprise. But hidden amongst it all was a small spark of recognition, and that was what caught Peter's attention.

Now he knew he truly _was_ mad.

He let out a short bark of hysterical laughter, unconsciously taking a step backwards as he attempted to escape this bizarre reality he'd fallen into. His gaze was still riveted upon the woman, and he noted absentmindedly that her expression had shifted to one of alarm. He briefly wondered why, before the single lucid thought that the floor had disappeared from beneath his feet pierced his consciousness. With a sickening thud Peter's head collided with the ground and he knew no more.

o0o

It was only as he was guided onto his couch that Peter returned to alertness. All he could recall of the trip up to his penthouse was a blur of colours, obnoxiously loud sounds, and far too many hands prodding at him. The number of voices had diminished significantly now, and in the relative silence of his apartment he was befuddled to realise he was in quite a deal of pain. The back of his head was throbbing _terribly_ and he automatically reached up to probe the offending area, but his questing fingers were batted away by an unseen pair of hands before he could assess the wound.

'Oh no, you don't,' came Donna's familiar voice as she moved into his line of vision, crouching before him. 'No touching,' she stated firmly. 'The last thing we need is you getting that wound infected because you're too silly to keep your hands to yourself. Now sit tight and Martha will be back in a moment to put you back together.'

She stood then and Peter followed her movements with his eyes, automatically raising his head as he did so. It was an action he regretted almost immediately and he let out an involuntary gasp as the injury somewhere behind his right ear made itself known.

'What happened?' he asked uncomfortably, his speech a little slurred as his mind attempted to fill in the gaps.

Donna was fussing at the sink and it was a moment before she turned back to him.

'For some unknown reason you decided to step off the stage, and in doing so you've managed to crack your head open.'

Peter frowned, he remembered that now.

'I was distracted,' he answered petulantly. 'I thought I saw –'

He broke off as the apparition – the blonde woman who could not _possibly_ exist – whose appearance had caused him to fall from the stage, walked into the room.

'I sent the wheelchair back downstairs with one of the porters,' she was saying, 'and I managed to find some –'

She broke off the moment she realised Peter was awake. Once again a range of emotions flitted across her face at the sight of him, but they were so fleeting that all Peter could really tell was that surprise and confusion were prominent amongst them. For his part, Peter simply stared at her in shock. He was unable to believe that what had begun as a simple figment of his imagination had now progressed to full-bodied visual and auditory hallucinations. Desperately he wondered if someone had given him some kind of dissociative and he simply hadn't noticed.

'He's awake then,' the newcomer commented flatly, finally tearing her gaze away from Peter in favour of turning to Donna.

Startled, Peter whipped his head around, temporarily impervious to the pain, to stare at Donna in bewilderment.

'You can see her!?' he exclaimed in astonishment, eyes wide with confusion.

Donna pulled a strange face; a mix of exasperation and worry for the state of his sanity.

'Of course I can see her, Peter,' she answered shortly, sharing a look that Peter couldn't interpret with the blonde woman. 'Why wouldn't I be able to see her?'

_Because she's not real? Because she's a figment of my imagination? Because for the man I dream about, she's the most important person in the universe?_

Any one of those answers would have sufficed, but wisely Peter kept silent. Once again his gaze drifted over to the blonde woman. She _looked_ alive. He could see her chest rising and falling with each breath she took, and there was no way the intensity of her gaze could be anything _but_ alive.

'Could you give us a moment?' Donna asked, breaking the silence.

Peter turned back to her in surprise before he realised she'd been talking to the stranger. She'd already disappeared back into the entryway by the time he'd turned back to Donna.

'Did you take something?' Donna asked suspiciously, fixing Peter with a no-nonsense gaze.

'You tell me,' Peter challenged miserably, too confounded to argue.

Donna was silent for a moment before the suspicion fled, to be replaced with concern. She crouched down before him so that she was once again eye level with him, her hands resting reassuringly on his knees – grounding him in reality.

'Rose is as real as you or I, Peter,' she said gently. 'Now, why did you think otherwise?' she probed after a moment's hesitation.

'I've dreamt about her.'

He didn't need to elaborate for Donna to understand, and if the slight tightening of her fingers on his knees was anything to go by, she knew exactly what he meant.

'Do you know who she is?' Donna asked seriously, her expression carefully schooled.

Peter frowned, taken aback by the intensity of Donna's question. It was as though she was hoping for a specific answer.

'No,' he answered honestly. 'I've never met her before.'

It seemed Donna had been expecting that answer – although she seemed disappointed by it.

'Of course not,' she answered ambiguously. 'Well then,' she continued briskly, 'shall I rectify that particular oversight on my part?'

Without waiting for an answer she called Rose back into the room, standing as she did so.

'Peter, I'd like to introduce my friend, Rose Tyler. Rose, meet Peter Vincent.'

Rose offered her hand and cautiously Peter took it. Her grip was strong, and absentmindedly Peter noted that holding Rose Tyler's hand felt _right_.

'So you're, "Vampire Boy",' Rose greeted warmly; her eyes alight with mirth as she released Peter's hand, seemingly recovered from her earlier reticence.

Peter shot Donna a dark look.

'I'm an illusionist,' he insisted, mildly affronted that Donna had used her stupid nickname for him in front of Rose. 'I just happen to have a small interest in vampires is all,' he sniffed, affecting an air of nonchalance.

His act seemed to amuse Rose further.

'I'm not sure "small interest" covers your front room, Peter,' she said frankly.

Donna snorted loudly and within seconds all three were laughing as though they'd been friends for years. The tension that had been stifling Peter for the past few days dispersed and he was able to relax for the first time that evening. As he watched Rose laugh, he realised she was less and less like the image his dreams had conjured, and the thought comforted him. Rose was older; not drastically so but there were small changes to her features that made his dream woman seem almost a child in comparison. The older look suited Rose Tyler, he thought idly. She was confident and certain of herself, and the sorrow that clung to and burdened the blonde woman of his dreams was absent in her. As their laughter died down, Rose fixed Peter with a tentative smile.

'From what I saw of your show this evening,' she admitted, 'you're certainly quite the illusionist.'

Peter began to nod, before aborting the movement as he grimaced in pain.

'Oh!' Rose exclaimed, darting towards Donna. 'Sorry, I completely forgot I brought these up.'

She offered a small blister pack to Donna who seemed equally flustered as she fetched the glass of water she'd filled ten minutes ago. Popping two white pills out of their packaging, Donna offered them to Peter along with the glass of water.

'I sent Rose to get some Paracetamol for your head,' Donna explained apologetically. 'Martha shouldn't be too much longer now,' she added.

Taking the pills gratefully, Peter placed them both in his mouth before washing them down with a swig of water. He shut his eyes momentarily as the movement jostled his injury but he was relieved to know the paracetamol would cover him for the next few hours. He just wished this "Martha" would hurry up.

His wish was answered moments later as a young dark-skinned woman entered the room, carrying a Doctor's bag. She acknowledged Rose and Donna briefly – Peter guessed she knew them – before she approached Peter, setting her bag down on the coffee table as she did so.

'Hello, Peter,' she greeted kindly. 'I'm Dr Martha Jones.'

Peter took the proffered hand and matched the firm grip easily. The moment her hand was free, Martha turned her attention to the back of Peter's head.

'Let's have a look at this cut,' she murmured, pulling on a pair of gloves.

Gently she tilted Peter's head forward so that she could access the wound. He felt her fiddling with something and moments later she'd removed a pad that had obviously been taped temporarily over the wound to stem the bleeding. Peter hadn't even known it was there. He wrinkled his nose slightly though as he caught sight of the amount of blood on the cloth.

'It's stopped bleeding,' Martha assured him, sensing his discomfort.

Light fingers probed the area and Peter hissed slightly as they came into contact with a particularly tender spot.

'Sorry,' Martha offered, pulling back so that she was once again face to face with him. 'It's going to need quite a few stitches, and a thorough wash-out. You're not allergic to anything are you?'

Peter stared at her blankly. Was he?

'I'm not sure.'

Martha nodded distractedly, already laying out what she'd need, but Rose caught his eye and gave him a small bolstering smile. She and Donna had retreated to the kitchen counter and were busy making tea for everyone.

'Alright, Peter,' said Martha, recalling Peter's attention. 'I'll need you to lie down on your stomach.'

He did as asked, wishing Martha would hurry up. Finally, she seemed to finish her preparations, and moved the small stool she'd liberated from somewhere into position by Peter's head.

'I'm going to put in the local anaesthetic now,' she explained. 'This will sting a bit.'

Gloved fingers pushed his hair to the side before Peter felt the needle pierce the skin.

'_Fuck me_!' he yelped as Martha depressed the syringe and the local made itself known.

'Try not to move,' Martha commented dryly.

'Easy for you to say,' Peter muttered darkly, but he did his best to keep still, aware of the vulnerable position he was currently occupying and the fact that Martha was holding a fucking giant needle.

'Everything alright?' Donna called, far too cheerfully, from her position by the countertop.

'Fuck off.'

'Someone's touchy. I was only asking after _your_ well-being.'

Rose chuckled.

'Leave him alone, Donna,' Rose teased good-naturedly. 'He's got a huge gash in the back of his head!'

'Exactly,' Peter agreed petulantly. 'You try having your head sliced open.'

All three women laughed at that, which had been completely unintentional on Peter's part.

'You are _such_ a sook,' Donna commented. 'I'm going to take a picture of the little scratch so you can see what a big deal you're making out of this.'

Peter didn't bother to protest, too caught up in the unpleasant sensation of liquid trickling down his neck.

'I'm just washing out the wound,' Martha supplied, having felt him tense beneath her.

Minutes later as he felt the hooked needle place the first stitch, Peter realised he preferred the feel of trickling liquid immensely.

'Oww,' he whined, as Martha pulled her second stitch through with much more force than Peter thought was strictly necessary.

'I've had children complaining less than you,' Martha commented chidingly.

'It hurts!' Peter replied stubbornly, glaring furiously at the floor.

'Would it help if you had a hand to hold?'

He'd been so busy complaining he hadn't heard Rose approach. She'd crouched down by his head, the tip of her tongue peeking out as she smiled at him. She brought her hand forward and wiggled it enticingly. Without even thinking about it Peter took her hand, and in that moment he realised he didn't really mind being stitched up if it meant holding hands with Rose Tyler.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Rose was becoming impatient. She'd arrived promptly at the designated time in Peter's apartment – lunch in tow – only to find the man himself conspicuously absent. It was the first time Peter had been late, and it was only now that the routine had been broken that Rose realised she'd unconsciously fallen into an unspoken habit with Peter. As she thought about it more, she registered that Peter had stopped asking her to lunch by text _four days ago_. She'd just automatically turned up on the fifth day with lunch, as he'd seemingly assumed she would. The thought alarmed her slightly because she'd been introduced to Peter less than a week ago.

Although she knew very well that Peter was in fact the Doctor – minus his memories and temporarily human – it seemed wretchedly unfair to befriend him when she had such an advantage over him. But try as she might Rose couldn't bring herself to stay away from him, particularly when it was looking more and more likely that she might be stuck for some time in this universe.

After meeting Peter Vincent, Martha had finally told Donna and Rose about the time she'd spent in 1913. From the moment she'd spoken to Rose on the phone she'd suspected that the Doctor had used the Chameleon Arch, but she'd wanted to meet the man first before she voiced her suspicions. Having heard Martha's account of her experience in 1913, neither Rose nor Donna had any doubts that Martha's first instinct had been correct: the Doctor had once again become human.

As they understood the process, that also meant that somewhere about Peter Vincent's person or possessions was a fob watch. According to Martha, locating the watch was vital as it contained the entirety of the Doctor's Time Lord self and would be necessary to restore him to his Time Lord state. They had already searched the TARDIS extensively – a much easier task than normal as she'd only managed to restore a few rooms since Rose and Donna had boosted her emergency power cells – and had found no trace of the watch. They'd also been unable to locate the Doctor's coat and suit which was troubling, as it suggested that Peter had quite likely done something with them when he'd woken up. Rose hoped he hadn't thrown them out.

As such, Donna now spent her days not only juggling Peter's commitments to Hard Rock but trying to retrace Peter's movements since he'd arrived in Las Vegas; an almost impossible task that Martha was assisting her with. By default that had left Rose with the job of searching through Peter's apartment to the best of her abilities. That was one reason why she'd accepted Peter's first offer of lunch, but so far her attempts to locate the fob watch had been unsuccessful. Even now, as she waited for Peter she found herself once more idly glancing through his vampire collection in the hopes that the fob watch might be found nestled amongst some of his gilded stakes. The other reason Martha and Donna had been so eager to veto on searching Peter's apartment was because apparently Rose "got on best" with him. What they'd meant by that she had no idea, but she suspected it had something to do with her slightly higher tolerance levels towards Peter's eccentricities.

Apart from finding the fob watch, another conundrum that lay heavily upon Rose's mind was _why_: why had the Doctor sought refuge in the guise of Peter Vincent? What was he running from? Martha, Rose, and Donna had debated these questions at length, but they were still no closer to reaching a consensus on the situation. Unfortunately the TARDIS had been no help either, her voice interface either unable or unwilling to help. The TARDIS's reluctance to get involved was telling, and Rose was beginning to reach her own conclusions regarding the Doctor's motives. She hoped she was wrong though because she didn't like the direction her conclusions were taking her in.

'Hello.'

Rose had been so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the lift arrive. Whipping around she found herself face to face with Peter Vincent.

'You were miles away,' he commented, staring intently at her.

'Sorry,' Rose replied automatically, shaking off the last of her heavy thoughts.

'What are you doing waiting in here?' Peter questioned, frowning slightly. 'I thought you found the vampire stuff "too much".'

'You know perfectly well that I was simply referring to the quantity of your collection when I said that.'

Peter chuckled, finally stepping back so that they could move into the open-plan living room. Rose was glad he'd finally turned her misspoken comment into a joke. Two days ago he'd overheard her muttering unsavourily about the vast collection of vampire and supernatural artefacts after a long and unsuccessful hour of searching for the fob watch. At the time Peter had seemed quite upset by her apparent dislike for his vampire interest.

Rose was almost at the kitchen countertop when she remembered she'd left her bounty in the other room. Ducking back out, she hastily collected the tray of coffees and the carry bag she'd brought up with her, containing what was to have been their lunch.

'I made the mistake of having the sandwiches toasted,' she commented apologetically as she pulled the soggy brown paper bags out of the carry bag. 'Didn't realise we wouldn't be eating straight away.'

Peter wrinkled his nose at the sight of the sandwiches before making the executive decision to bin them immediately.

'My fault,' he replied sheepishly, rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck. 'I got caught up in a meeting. I meant to text you actually to let you know...but I forgot.'

Rose laughed, plonking herself down on one of the bar stools. It was moments like these that reminded her strongly of the Doctor. Peter's little idiosyncrasies were so typical of the Doctor that it was impossible to think of the two men as separate entities. Particularly once she'd started to scratch beneath the caustic personality Peter projected to the world and had found that the Doctor really wasn't as far away as she'd first thought.

'No harm done,' said Rose, waving away the apology as she selected one of the coffees. 'At least we still have our coffees.'

She took a sip from the cup and realised belatedly that the contents had cooled completely.

'Actually, no coffee either,' she declared, flicking the two coffees into the bin. 'It seems I'm not the best friend to have lunch with.'

A peculiar look settled on Peter's face.

'You're the only friend I'd want to have lunch with, Rose Tyler.'

It was such a profound and frank statement, that Rose wasn't sure how to respond. Thankfully Peter seemed to realise he'd spoken the thought aloud and hastily turned his back to her, pulling open the refrigerator as he sought a distraction. There was the clink of bottles as he shifted rapidly through the contents of his fridge before he let out a triumphant exclamation and turned back to Rose brandishing a carton of eggs in delight.

'Since _your_ attempt at lunch has failed, you'll have to settle for _my_ cooking,' he declared smugly, apparently quite proud of himself for successfully steering the conversation out of the awkward and dangerous territory it had entered.

Rose's eyes narrowed in on the egg carton before she glanced up appraisingly at Peter.

'Do you even know how to cook?'

Peter huffed indignantly.

'Of course I do,' he replied rudely, putting the eggs down with a little more force than Rose thought was wise.

'It's just I've never seen you eat anything other than room service,' she pointed out reasonably, unable to resist the temptation to tease him.

Peter paused in his reconnaissance of his kitchen cupboards to shoot her a withering glare.

'I hardly think a week's worth of observations is sufficient evidence to reach such a blatantly incorrect conclusion,' he said dryly, as he pointedly wrested the frying pan noisily from the cupboard he'd finally located it in.

Rose rolled her eyes at the display, watching with some amusement as he fiddled with the stove for a moment before he worked out how to turn it on. It was quite clear that he was completely unfamiliar with the layout of his kitchen.

'Alright,' she conceded briefly, 'but the fact that your kitchen is full of alcohol doesn't lend itself to your argument. In fact I'm astonished you even have eggs in that fridge of yours. Last time I looked it was almost exclusively Midori.'

'I like to entertain,' Peter pouted, his attention fixed solely on the frying pan. 'There's nothing wrong with having a kitchen that can double as a private bar. In fact in the Acruxian 4 galaxy, my kitchen would be the epitome of high-class dining.'

Rose was glad Peter's back was turned because it would have been difficult to explain her stunned expression. His casual and apparently unintentional reference to a star system Peter Vincent had likely never heard of had caught her off guard. Once again she wondered how much of the Doctor remained in Peter. He dreamt frequently about the Doctor, and Donna had told Rose that Peter had an entire journal filled with scribbled and garbled memories that belonged to the Doctor. It seemed now though that even whilst conscious the Doctor's thoughts and memories were slipping through to Peter. Rose had known the moment she'd met Peter that there was something missing in his life. It had been in his eyes. The alien presence that had always lurked – mostly hidden – within the Doctor's eyes had been missing. Sometimes she thought he almost seemed to know it as well, and he just didn't know how to get back to who he was. He'd get this faraway look and it was almost as though the Doctor was staring back at her, but then he'd shake himself out of his thoughts and it would just be Peter again.

Looking at Peter now – his attention fixed solely on the omelette he was making – Rose sometimes caught herself wondering if it wouldn't be better to simply leave him be. There was no doubt that Peter was a troubled individual, but he was also far more carefree than the Doctor could ever hope to be. The Time War wasn't reality for Peter. To him, if anything, it was an unpleasant dream. He didn't have to live out the remainder of his days carrying the burden of the last of the Time Lords. He didn't have to be alone. The responsibilities of the universe didn't rest on his shoulders. In fact, the most pressing decision in Peter's life – at this very moment – was simply deciding when he needed to flip the omelette. And Rose wondered if that was what the Doctor had been seeking: absolution.

'Come here, Rose,' Peter called confidently, breaking into her thoughts.

Obligingly she got up from the countertop and moved around to stand beside him, banishing her dangerous thoughts for the time being.

'Watch this,' Peter commanded, smirking self-assuredly as he glanced at her.

With intense concentration Peter held the pan between them for a moment before deliberately flicking the pan and flipping the omelette perfectly. He set the pan back on the stove and looked expectantly towards Rose. She couldn't help but laugh.

'You think you're _so_ impressive,' she accused light-heartedly.

'I _am_ so impressive,' he refuted immediately in mock affront.

'You wish.'

Peter rolled his eyes. 'Since I cooked, you can get the plates out.'

'And just where would I find your plates, Peter?' she asked cheekily, smirking because she knew he didn't have the answer to her question.

Peter looked like he was going to formulate a lengthy reply, but he caught sight of Rose's smirk and simply let out a defeated huff.

'I've no fucking idea.'

Rose laughed at the reluctant admission. 'Well you cooked, so I'll let that one go this time.'

Stooping down she tried the most likely looking cupboard first and let out a victorious "ha" as she spotted the plates. Peter looked over his shoulder and scowled, although his eyes were alight with good humour.

'You just happened to get lucky,' he muttered begrudgingly, taking the plates from her as Rose turned away to seek out cutlery and glasses for them. By the time Peter had plated up, Rose had set two places side by side at the countertop, with a small jug of sparkling water to accompany their meal. Peter brought the two plates over and seated himself comfortably on Rose's right.

'Bon appétit!' he declared, raising his glass in a toast.

Rose laughed and enthusiastically touched her glass to his before turning her attention to her meal. Surprisingly, Peter had managed to scrounge up more than simply eggs. Rose had no idea where he'd found the ingredients, but as she took her first bite the velvet taste of mushrooms, mixed with creamy eggs and some kind of herb she couldn't quite place, overwhelmed her taste buds.

'This is delicious!' she said genuinely, turning to face Peter in astonishment.

He seemed a bit surprised by her earnest admission and simply thanked her quietly. Rose took a few more bites of the exquisite omelette, savouring its taste, before she spoke again.

'Really, this is amazing. You've been holding out on me,' she accused good-naturedly. 'I had no idea you were this capable in the kitchen!'

The comment could easily have been directed at either Peter or the Doctor, but it was Peter who sat before her currently, his ears tinged red in embarrassment.

'It was my mother's recipe,' he admitted quietly after a moment's silence. 'She used to let me make it with her before –' he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing on frankly. 'Before she died.'

He'd set down his fork and was staring off into the distance, his food long forgotten. Gently Rose reached out and took his hand in hers. The movement seemed to startle him and he glanced down at their entwined fingers in surprise but he didn't draw away.

'I'm sorry,' Rose offered quietly.

He met her gaze then and it was so tumultuous that Rose almost lost herself in it before he looked away again.

'It's alright,' he replied, giving her hand a brief squeeze. 'I'd almost forgotten how to make it. You helped me remember,' he added sincerely, his gaze swivelling back to hers.

Their food lay forgotten as they sat silently at the countertop, the only movement Rose's thumb as she absentmindedly traced circles on the back of Peter's hand. Donna had told her that she'd learnt very little about Peter's background in the month or so she'd spent with him – other than finding out that he believed they'd gone to school together. As far as Peter was concerned there was no need for him to rehash the unpleasant details of his past with Donna because he believed she'd spent her childhood with him. This was the first time Peter had mentioned anything remotely connected to his past, and as much as it would undoubtedly pain him, Rose couldn't let the opportunity pass to press him for details. Not if it meant there was a chance that the information might shed some light on the Doctor's situation, and the reasoning behind his decision to become human.

'Your mum must have been very talented in the kitchen,' she said softly, glancing towards him. She felt him stiffen, but eventually he relaxed again.

'She was,' he replied distantly, clearly lost in his thoughts. 'I used to love cooking with her but after she died I couldn't stand it. You were right,' he chuckled darkly. 'I haven't cooked anything in years.'

'How old were you when she died?' Rose asked gently.

He turned to her then, and his eyes were so full of grief that Rose regretted asking almost immediately. He was so lost in his memories that Rose stopped waiting for an answer. She almost jumped in surprise when he did eventually speak.

'I was ten when they died,' he whispered, his voice cracking.

Reflexively, Rose tightened her grip on his hand and that seemed to ground him back in reality. His gaze cleared and he stared intently at her as though surprised to find himself in this position with her.

'Why did you want to know?' he asked perplexedly.

Rose stared at him in surprise; he looked so very vulnerable, as though he couldn't understand why anyone would ask about his past.

'Because I care about you,' she answered automatically, the honest answer arriving on her lips before she could even consider her answer.

Peter's eyes bored into her own, searching intently as he attempted to judge the validity of her statement. Rose had no idea what he saw in her gaze, but something caused him to lean in. She saw the kiss coming, and without thinking deftly pulled back and away from Peter. He felt her pull her hand from his and his eyes snapped open, locking onto hers. The hurt and confusion in his gaze leapt out at her, but he said nothing, prompting Rose to speak up out of guilt.

'I can't,' she blurted apologetically, her voice sounding horribly loud in the silence. 'I'm sorry Peter but...it's complicated.'

Complicated in that you're not in your right mind, she thought sardonically. Not to mention that the man _I_ love – who's really part _you_ – is waiting for me in a parallel world. She could see Peter withdrawing further and knew she was making a terrible mess of things.

'I'm sorry if I led you to believe otherwise,' she said earnestly, attempting to salvage the situation, 'but I _really_ can't. I care about you Peter, deeply, but –'

'But only as a friend,' Peter finished scathingly.

Rose winced, but nodded. It was a low blow, but he'd been hurt by her and it wasn't completely unexpected. After all he was still the Doctor deep down, and sometimes the only way he knew how to protect himself was to push away those who cared most about him. It just didn't help that he was pushing her away because she loved his future self.

'Right,' Peter murmured brusquely as he stood suddenly. 'I've got work to do. Let yourself out.'

Without looking at her, he stormed off, leaving her alone in his penthouse.

o0o

That night after the show, Peter took great care to make sure he was seen making his way upstairs with two giggling blondes hanging off his arms. Both Donna and Martha were standing by Rose as he passed, and neither of the pair was impressed by the display.

'He is _such_ a two year old when he gets in a tiff like this,' Donna commented as they took a separate lift up to her apartment. 'You say something that upsets him, and he retaliates in the most childish manner.'

'Well, I think it's disgusting,' Martha put in frankly. 'At least in 1913 he still had standards! Just how many women has he slept with since he's been here!?'

'You really _don't_ want to know the answer to that,' Donna muttered, making her way into the kitchen to put on the tea.

'That bad, huh?' Martha asked, turning to Rose in disbelief.

She smiled tightly.

'Pretty much.'

Rose had shared the story of her lunchtime fiasco with Martha and Donna the moment she'd arrived back from Peter's apartment. They'd spent their morning going through laundry receipts – hoping to trace the Doctor's clothing – and were having their own lunch when Rose made it back to Donna's apartment. Donna could tell immediately that something had happened and had demanded to know what "the moron" had done this time. Rose had laughed it off initially, opting to tell them only what she'd learnt about Peter's mother. Donna had sensed that there was more to the story though, and had pushed lightly until Rose had revealed Peter's "misunderstanding". Neither of them seemed particularly surprised by the incident.

'Well he's still the Doctor,' Martha had pointed out pragmatically. Donna had agreed instantly and the pair had spent several minutes explaining exactly why it was perfectly normally for Peter to fancy Rose. What they didn't understand was why Rose had been so shaken by the idea. Unfortunately, at this point in their timelines it was absolutely impossible for Rose to explain anything about the Metacrisis Doctor who had stayed in Pete's World with her. Not without risking the integrity of the multiverse.

So she'd simply told them that she couldn't explain it. That it was complicated, but she had a very good reason for keeping Peter at arm's length. It was a mark of how strong their friendship had become that both Donna and Martha accepted her pronouncement entirely, and without judgement. They knew enough about Rose Tyler to understand that if she was keeping her distance from the Doctor – even a human Doctor, who thought he was an illusionist and vampire enthusiast – then she must have an excellent reason.

'What I don't get,' Martha said, interrupting Rose's thoughts as she plopped down beside her on the couch, 'is why Peter is such an arse at times? It's like the Doctor went out of his way to make himself as unlikeable as possible. It's as if he _wants_ to be hated. I mean, I spent _three_ _months_ with John Smith in _nineteen thirteen,_ and the only time he really irritated me was when he'd do something that conformed to the values of the time period. Of course, he wasn't particularly pleasant when he found out he needed to change back,' she reasoned, cringing slightly as she recalled that horrible evening in 1913. 'But overall he was a kind, sensitive, caring, and _very_ human gentleman. But it's like Peter's the complete opposite. Even for the 21st Century, he's a right piece of work.'

'To be fair,' Donna joined in, bringing over the tea to join them at the couch. 'He's mellowed a _lot_ since I first met him. But you're right; I'd never have believed he was the Doctor if you two hadn't shown up.'

Rose took a thoughtful sip of her tea before carefully setting it down on the coffee table.

'I think it's deliberate,' she began slowly, choosing her words cautiously. 'You said you thought the Doctor had been away from Earth, didn't you Martha?'

The other woman looked at her strangely, thrown by the non sequitur.

'Well, I suppose,' she confirmed. 'I don't know for sure,' she hastened to add. 'You know what the Doctor's like; he's hardly one to drop in for tea so I hadn't _really_ expected to hear from him after June. But then I started to work for UNIT and well, in my line of work you can tell when the Doctor's about...except he wasn't,' she added perplexedly. 'There was still plenty of extra-terrestrial activity, and we shared the workload well enough between Torchwood and us, but the Doctor was never around. Not until Christmas. That's the first I've heard of him since June.'

'Exactly!' Rose replied seriously. 'What if he really _hasn't_ been on Earth since June?'

Martha frowned, and Donna looked nonplussed.

'Well he doesn't hang around Earth all the time does he,' Donna said reasonably. 'Travels all over, he said.'

'But what if this time he didn't?' Rose pressed. 'What if the next event he got involved in, straight after he said goodbye to you, Martha, was the flying Titanic? And what if something happened on board that ship...'

Martha's eyes widened as the point Rose was labouring finally hit home.

'Oh my God,' she blurted, staring at Rose in shock.

Rose nodded grimly.

'What!?' Donna demanded. 'What is it?'

'Travelling with the Doctor isn't just seeing the sights, Donna,' Martha explained, taking over from Rose. 'He gets involved in events, and there's a tendency for people to get hurt around him. It's nothing to do with him, but you've got to understand that he often ends up exactly where he's needed and sometimes not everyone makes it out. No matter how much he tries, he can't always save everyone.'

'But what's this got to do with Peter?' Donna asked confusedly, somewhat shaken by Martha's plain talking.

'When I told Rose about the Titanic,' Martha continued, 'I mentioned something that isn't commonly known within the general public. UNIT was monitoring the situation as it unfolded, in the hopes that we might be able to contain the ship if it entered Earth's atmosphere, and to do that we were running deep space scans. Our scans were useless, and in reality we wouldn't have stood a chance if the Doctor hadn't been on board the ship that day, but there was one thing the scans did pick up though...and that was the bodies.'

Donna gasped, but Martha continued on grimly.

'Whatever happened aboard that ship, _thousands_ died that night. It only took a few minutes, but from UNIT HQ we watched as thousands of bodies were jettisoned into space.'

'And the Doctor was on board?' Donna reiterated shakily.

Martha nodded. 'When did you say Peter Vincent first appeared, Donna?'

Donna's eyes widened in horror as the realisation hit her, silently mouthing "Oh my God".

'Boxing Day,' she breathed. 'He didn't exist before Boxing Day.'

A grim silence settled on the trio until Rose broke it once again.

'He'd just spent a year in hell,' she murmured flatly, 'found another Time Lord who he subsequently lost again, and then he stumbled into a situation where he couldn't save their lives. It's not so hard now to believe that he deliberately became Peter.'

'You're sure he did this himself? Even the damage to the TARDIS?' Donna asked sceptically. She'd been worried about some kind of alien invasion since she'd first heard about the Family of Blood.

Rose nodded.

'He _runs_,' she replied emphatically. 'This is him running as far away as he possibly can. I'm not saying what he's done is right, but he wanted to forget himself. Imagine what he must have been feeling when he decided to change himself? All that self-hate and anger and grief bottled up inside because he can't ever bear to unburden himself. Is it any wonder Peter is the way he is?' Rose asked quietly.

Neither Martha nor Donna could fault Rose's logic because when you thought about it that way, Peter's behaviour suddenly made a lot more sense.

'Letting the TARDIS go,' Rose continued sadly, 'so that he could live out the remainder of his life in ignorance – as a _human_ – is about as far away as he could get from himself. He just didn't count on the TARDIS putting up a fight for him. He might be the last of the Time Lords, but he's _her_ last of the Time Lords. She was never going to let him go that easily.'

'Peter remembers though,' Donna whispered softly into the sudden silence. 'He dreams about the Doctor's life, and it terrifies him because he doesn't understand. We can't let him run away forever,' Donna insisted. 'It's not fair to Peter.'

'No,' Rose agreed regretfully. 'But it _has_ to be Peter's choice to open that watch.'

o0o

Martha glared at Peter as he paraded past her on his way up to his apartment. He leered at her in response and deliberately whispered something filthy in the tall ginger woman's ear as he led her upstairs, knowing full well that _that_ would annoy Martha the most.

'Just ignore him, Martha,' Rose said calmly from beside her.

'How can you stand it?' Martha shot back, looking at Rose incredulously.

'He's not the man I'm sleeping with?' Rose suggested innocently.

Martha rolled her eyes.

It had been over a week since Peter had made a move on Rose, but despite some initial awkwardness between the pair the following day – surprisingly Peter had sought Rose out to apologise when she hadn't automatically turned up for lunch – they seemed to have moved past the incident with ease. The pair had certainly grown close over the two weeks they'd known each other, which hadn't surprised Martha in the least because once you stripped back all the layers, they were still just Rose Tyler and the Doctor.

Still, she couldn't believe how easily Rose dismissed Peter's numerous sexual encounters. The ginger woman was the third one-night stand Martha had seen Peter pick up since she'd arrived in Las Vegas. According to both Donna and Rose though, three one-night stands in two weeks was almost celibate for Peter.

'He does it when he's stressed,' Rose finally answered properly, once they were in the privacy of the lift.

She sounded distracted and Martha glanced at her in concern.

'What do you mean?'

'Donna has a theory that how –' Rose paused searching for a suitable word, '–_infuriating_ Peter is on certain nights, is directly proportional to the amount of sleep he got the previous evening.'

'You mean his dreams,' Martha stated, catching on quickly.

Rose nodded. 'He didn't sleep last night.'

Martha pulled a face. 'How do you know that?' she asked half-amused, half-curious.

'He called me at two in the morning,' Rose answered frankly, stepping out of the lift and letting Martha into Donna's apartment.

'Who called you at two in the morning?' Donna called, coming out of her bedroom. She'd taken the evening off with a minor headache and had left Francesca in charge downstairs.

'Peter,' Rose answered tiredly, launching herself onto the couch and placing a pillow over her face.

'Oh,' said Donna. She looked towards Martha, lowering her voice slightly. 'Did he pick someone up?'

Martha nodded and the pair shared a sympathetic look. No matter how cool Rose played it, they could both tell that watching Peter entertaining other women was a strain for her. Even if he _was_ sleeping with them to cope with his dreams, it was still a ridiculous number of sexual partners to be going through so quickly. The next time she saw him Martha resolved to have a little chat with Peter about sexually transmitted infections and safe sex.

Moving over to the countertop Martha opened her laptop. She'd set it up in Donna's apartment a week ago after realising that it was silly to cart the laptop about every time she came up to speak with Rose and Donna. Opening up her browser she flicked through the local news of the day. Despite their suspicions that the Doctor had used the Chameleon Arch without coercion it didn't hurt to be prepared otherwise, hence why Martha scanned through the news regularly. There wasn't anything in particular she was looking for, but her experiences with UNIT had shown her the value of newspaper clippings.

Tonight the lead story centred on a businessman's proposal to fund a new casino on The Strip. Martha rolled her eyes at the timeless story and absentmindedly flicked through the remainder of the articles making headlines. She was about to close the browser when a headline caught her eye: _Elderly Woman Claims Man Attempted to "Bite" Her_. The article was less than two paragraphs long, and mentioned that the woman had been leaving a grocery store in Hillcrest Bluffs when the man had tried to bite her before being scared off by the security guard. At the end there was a warning for locals to: "keep an eye on elderly residents". Clearly the reporter hadn't taken the elderly woman seriously. Martha though, found the story incredibly odd. "Biting" was not something that occurred commonly. Automatically she copied the article to her desktop, unable to shake the feeling that the article was important.

'Donna,' she asked distractedly, 'have you heard anything about people being "bitten"?'

'"Bitten"?' Donna repeated sounding mystified.

'Who's been bitten?'

Martha's head snapped up at the familiar yet unexpected voice. Peter, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and an unzipped hoodie stood just inside the doorway, looking curiously between Donna and Martha. He'd clearly let himself into Donna's apartment unannounced, and had managed to catch a few words of their discussion.

'For God's sake, Peter!' Donna exclaimed loudly as she caught sight of him, stalking over to pointedly shut the door behind him. 'How many times have I told you to knock? You can't just let yourself in!'

'You gave me a key, Donna,' he reminded her defensively. 'What's the point of knocking every time I come down here if I've got a key to let myself in?'

'It's good manners, you moron,' Donna huffed, before her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'What are you doing down here anyway? I thought you were otherwise occupied this evening.'

Peter shifted uneasily beneath her gaze before catching sight of Rose on the couch.

'I decided spending time with you lot is more interesting,' he answered vaguely, vaulting over the couch so that he landed beside Rose. She'd sat up at the sound of Peter's voice, but she shot him a mock irritated look as he almost supplanted her from the couch. 'Now who's been bitten?' he asked again, looking very much like an excited three year old as he glanced between them.

Donna rolled her eyes.

'Never you mind, mister. Now get your shoes off my couch,' she commanded, 'or are you planning on cleaning it again?'

'It was a tiny smudge, Donna,' Peter replied exasperatedly, apparently sufficiently distracted from his previous query. 'It hardly warranted a second look!'

The pair continued to bicker, falling into an old argument that Martha had heard several times before on nights like tonight. If he wasn't otherwise occupied, Peter would join the girls in Donna's apartment after the show for tea and biscuits before bed. And every time he did he'd _always_ find something to squabble over with Donna. Occasionally Rose would chip in a comment to one side of the argument, but she was always careful to distribute her support fairly between the pair lest she be accused of "ganging up". Wisely, Martha decided not to get involved tonight. Instead she returned her attention to her browser and pulled up a search engine. She wanted to see if any other articles had appeared which referenced "biting".

As she'd suspected, her search terms were far too vague, and after being misdirected for a third time to an unsavoury website she gave up. There was one other article that had jumped out at her though. It was a small piece – published two days ago – about a rising trend in house desertion in Clark County. Apparently real estate agents had been left baffled by the disappearance of entire families from rental properties, in what they referred to as "cut and runs". Martha shook her head in disbelief as she read the article. Only in Las Vegas, where the population had such high turnover rates, would it ever be considered "normal" that people had simply up and left their houses.

She saved the article to her desktop before shutting down the laptop for the evening. With Peter in the room, showing Rose and Donna the two articles would have to wait until morning. Thankfully the bickering had died down and the conversation had turned to some new trick Peter was intending to add to _Fright Night_. The sound of his voice though reminded Martha of her earlier resolution. With an "I'll be back in a moment", she ducked out of the room.

o0o

By the time Martha had completed her errand, Peter had long since finished demonstrating his trick and was camped out in front of the TV, watching some late night antiques show as he scrolled through eBay on his phone. Rose and Donna were seated at the kitchen countertop, nursing steaming cups of tea as they conferred in low voices. They looked up when she returned but Martha waved away their offer to join them, focussing instead on Peter. Picking up the remote she muted the television.

'I was listening to that,' Peter grumbled indignantly, not looking up from his phone as Martha stepped over him to seat herself on the empty couch. He'd chosen to sprawl out on the floor, propping himself up against the couch with the pillows he'd raided from said couch.

'I've got something for you,' Martha declared, completely ignoring his complaint.

'Really?' he asked sceptically as he looked up at her over his shoulder.

Martha nodded and dropped the carry bag she'd brought with her into his lap. He eyed the bag warily for a moment before finally putting his phone aside and investigating the contents.

'There's nothing in here but prescription medicine,' he noted, sounding somewhat disappointed. 'Are you sure this is the bag you meant to give me?' he added, attempting to hand the carry bag back to her.

'Quite sure,' Martha answered promptly. 'It's _your_ name on the prescriptions.'

Peter frowned before pulling out the two boxes to examine them more closely. His brow furrowed further as he realised it _was_ his name on the prescription.

'Why have you given me antibiotics?'

He sounded genuinely perplexed.

'To treat your infection,' Martha answered, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

By now Peter was facing her properly. 'I haven't _got_ an infection,' he said confusedly.

'Peter, how many sexual partners have you had in the last month?' Martha asked matter-of-factly.

Peter let out a half-strangled gasp of surprise, glancing worriedly over Martha's shoulder to make sure he hadn't attracted the other's attentions. Certain that he hadn't been heard he shifted slightly closer and hissed a hurried reply to Martha.

'I am not going to dignify that question with an answer!'

He sounded extremely put out.

'It was a perfectly reasonable question, Peter,' Martha replied, surprised he'd suddenly become so coy. 'Even if you don't want to put a number on it, the chances are high that you've picked up a sexually transmitted infection. The antibiotics are to treat two of the most common infections.'

Peter looked outraged.

'I don't have an STI!' he denied with conviction, only just managing to keep his voice down.

Martha rolled her eyes.

'Peter, I would gamble an obscene amount of money on the likelihood of you having either Chlamydia or Gonorrhoea. In fact you quite probably have _both_.'

Peter was temporarily speechless.

'You can't just say things like that!' he finally spluttered angrily.

'Like what?'

Unbeknownst to Peter and Martha, Rose and Donna had come over to the couch and were now expectantly awaiting an answer to Rose's query. Martha glanced at Peter, who'd shot to his feet. He looked horrified to find himself the centre of attention.

'Nothing!' he squeaked desperately, glaring at Martha furiously. 'We weren't talking about anything.'

Rose did not look convinced, but it was Donna whom Peter should have kept a closer eye on. In all of the hubbub she had unobtrusively bent down and retrieved the incriminating carry bag. She'd already inspected the contents by the time Peter took notice of her. With a muffled yelp he leapt forward and snatched the bag back from her, stuffing it safely away under his hoodie. But he was too late.

'Was that what I think it was?' she asked Martha.

'No, no, no, no,' Peter repeated hurriedly, stepping in between Donna and Martha in an attempt to stop the conversation. 'You two are not allowed to blog!'

'Blog?' Donna repeated.

'He means _gossip_,' Rose put in helpfully. 'What is it you're gossiping about?' she continued. 'And what's in the bag?' she asked, directing her query to Peter.

'There is _nothing_ in the bag,' Peter replied furiously. 'Martha had no right to do what she did!'

'Oh you are such a child,' Donna groused, nudging him out of the way to reach down and repatriate the pillows with the couch. Once she'd done that she plonked herself down on the couch next to Martha, looking pointedly at Peter. 'Martha's done you a favour. I should have sent you to a doctor weeks ago.'

'_I don't have what you think I have_,' he continued heatedly. 'And, as for _you_,' he added, pointing accusingly at Martha. 'It's considered _rude_ to go around making baseless assertions like that. You can't just say things like that in front of –' he trailed off but his eyes glanced automatically towards Rose.

'Honestly, Peter,' Martha sighed wearily, 'you're the only person in this room who thinks otherwise.'

Her response momentarily stunned him before he whirled around to face Rose.

'Rose doesn't,' he said with absolute certainty.

'Actually,' Rose said gently. 'I'm with Martha on this one. You should take the antibiotics.'

Peter's face fell, and he suddenly looked extremely embarrassed.

'You don't know what we're talking about,' he tried hopefully.

Rose smiled tightly, but it was Donna who answered.

'We could hear you talking,' she admitted sheepishly. 'We didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if we're being honest it was hardly out of left field.'

'What's that supposed to mean!?' Peter muttered mutinously, dropping down beside Rose on the couch she'd claimed.

'Peter, you go through partners like a knife through butter,' Donna stated plainly.

'That doesn't mean I have anything.'

'And you checked with all your partners that they were clean before you did anything?' Martha asked sarcastically, her eyebrow raised in disbelief.

Peter's silence was damning, and he seemed to know it. Rose chuckled at his brooding expression.

'You do know you're supposed to get _yourself_ checked out as well, every time you change partners?' she asked pointedly, poking him teasingly in the ribs.

He finally almost cracked a smile, but he refused to be goaded into admitting they might be right.

'I still don't see why I should take the antibiotics.'

All three women looked at him incredulously.

'What?' he asked stupidly.

Martha scoffed. Donna rolled her eyes. And Rose simply shook her head at him, her eyes alight with amusement.

'What!?' he asked again, this time more deliberately. 'I'm not _that_ bad.'

All three women laughed.

'I'm not!' he insisted indignantly, looking pleadingly towards Rose.

That only seemed to lead to further amusement. Peter thought the whole thing was highly unfair.

'You know, its doctors like you, Martha Jones – the ones who casually prescribe antibiotics at the drop of a hat – who are single-handedly responsible for the looming disaster of antibiotic resistance our world is facing.'

'For the sake of preventing antibiotic resistance then,' Martha replied sharply, 'I can quite easily arrange for you to have the full examination – including the swabs – done prior to starting your antibiotic course.'

This idea seemed to horrify Peter, and he back-tracked at lightning speed, agreeing almost meekly to complete the antibiotic course.

'That doesn't mean you stop the safe sex stuff, mister,' Donna added frankly. In her two months with Peter, Donna had learnt that oftentimes the blunt approach worked best with him; that way at least half of what she said might just be taken on board. In this case though, Martha thought it might have been better to try the subtle approach as she watched Peter flush in embarrassment.

'Can we not talk about stuff like this in front of Rose!?' he asked in a strangled voice.

There was an awkward silence, Rose frowning slightly as she assessed the feelings behind his statement.

'Peter, what you get up to in your own time doesn't interest me in the least.'

Peter looked like he'd been slapped in the face. It was a soft rejection, but everyone in the room seemed to understand the meaning behind Rose's statement. His sex life was of no interest to her because she had absolutely no intention of ever being involved in it. It seemed just this once, Peter had understood Rose entirely. He was looking anywhere but at Rose, and she simply gazed at him, her eyes full of regret and silent apology.

'It's late,' he finally said, his voice emotionless. 'I'm going home.'

Martha watched him leave, feeling guilty for the whole fiasco. She'd honestly had his best interests at heart when she'd gone to fill his prescription, but she knew now that she should never have breached such a sensitive topic with him in public; particularly not in front of Rose. Even though Martha knew very well that Rose was never going to take things further with Peter, it didn't help that the poor man was head over heels for Rose Tyler.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Couldn't resist putting this chapter up. Here's to hoping I don't regret spending time on this come my exam on Friday!

* * *

_Chapter 9_

Rose couldn't sleep. She felt terrible about what she'd said to Peter, and particularly the way he'd taken her "off the cuff" remark. She'd known she'd have to let him down at some point, but she'd always intended to do so gently. Rebuffing him in front of Martha and Donna, after a conversation that he'd so clearly been deeply embarrassed by, had been cruel. Inevitably though, Rose had to return to the parallel universe, and Peter had to open the watch. _That_ was their future, and Rose had known that from the moment she'd met Peter. This universe needed its Doctor and Rose needed the man she'd left behind in Pete's World. It wasn't fair to either of them to let Peter think otherwise.

The problem was Rose had never factored in the possibility of falling for Peter Vincent. She'd read the articles, watched the footage, and seen the pictures, and the man Peter presented to the world was crude, arrogant, and selfish. As far as Rose had been concerned, he'd been an imposter in the Doctor's body. But then she'd met Martha Jones, and finally Rose had learnt the truth: the Doctor had the ability to become human. He could rewrite his biology, changing literally every single cell in his body, and as part of the process his Time Lord consciousness would be removed. The result was a human mind and body, with his life story invented for him by the TARDIS. Everything that was the Doctor though – the collection of unique experiences and memories that made him, _him_ – was sealed away in a fob watch.

There was a saying Rose recalled, something along the lines of a person being the sum total of their experiences. But if that was the case, what did that make Peter? Was he just a story? Rose couldn't believe that, not for one second. Because regardless of where his "experiences" had come from – be they fiction or reality – they had shaped Peter. And underneath the gruff exterior presented to the world, was a man, who for all intents and purposes, was very similar to the Doctor. He might have become human and temporarily forgotten his Time Lord heritage, but the Chameleon Arch couldn't rewrite who he was fundamentally. The Doctor lived inside Peter Vincent, just as Peter Vincent lived inside the Doctor. All one had to do was look.

And Rose Tyler _had_ looked.

Initially Peter had simply been a curiosity; a disinhibited side to the Doctor that she'd never thought would have existed. He lived in the moment – coarse and instinctual – free from the confines of being the solitary member of his race. Despite knowing that someday she'd have to bring the Doctor back and return him to reality, Rose had let her curiosity get the better of her. She'd had lunch with Peter that first day and that had been the start. Peter was undeniably his own man, but the more time she spent with him the more of the Doctor she saw in him. And the more she saw of the Doctor in Peter, the more she came to realise that the Doctor had _always_ had a little bit of Peter Vincent in him.

When it came down to it; what hope had she had?

She'd loved her first Doctor – all gruff and Northern, shaped by his experiences in the Time War – and when he'd regenerated she'd learnt to love him all over again. Although the packaging might have changed, the man underneath it all was still the same. Peter was no different, but Rose's path lay with another. In Peter's future he would make the decision to transfer his regeneration energy into his handy spare hand, and by doing so bring about the one man who'd be capable of staying with Rose Tyler forever. That man would go on to make his own decisions, and his decision to stay had changed Rose's life. She loved _him_, and _together_ there was a slow path waiting for them to walk upon – as equals.

Peter had a different path to walk.

However, that didn't mean Rose was going to ostracise him for the remainder of her time in this universe. Even if she'd wanted to, she doubted she'd ever really have been able to stay away from him. It wasn't what Peter wanted, but Rose _could_ be a much needed friend to him. And right now, she needed to apologise to him.

It was past three in the morning but Rose decided there was no time like the present to put things right. Pulling a hoodie on over the sweatpants and t-shirt she slept in, she quietly let herself out of the apartment, double checking that she had her key card with her. It wasn't the first time she'd disappeared up to Peter's room in the middle of the night. He tended to call her when he'd had a rough night and was more than a little bit tipsy. If he sounded bad, Rose would go upstairs and sought him out. It generally involved a shared pot of tea, and sometimes a little bit of conversation and a fair amount of hand-holding before he either sent her back to her own bed – with assurances that he'd be fine – or they'd end up stretched out together on his sofa until he fell asleep. Only once had Rose accidentally fallen asleep with him, but luckily a concerned early morning phone call from Donna had woken her and she'd managed to leave without alerting Peter.

The lights were out in the entryway when she arrived up at his penthouse, but that meant nothing. Passing through the room on stockinged feet, Rose silently entered Peter's living room. She paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene before her. One of the sofas had been pushed flush against the floor to ceiling windows, and it was on this that he was sprawled out upon. He was awake still, his phone in one hand and a bottle of Midori in the other as he browsed eBay. If he noticed her in the doorway, he said nothing.

Knowing he would have said something if he'd wanted her to leave, Rose slowly approached the sofa. It was only when she reached the end of the sofa that his gaze begrudgingly flicked towards her, acknowledging her presence briefly. Rose could see he was still upset.

'Hey,' she said weakly, her voice echoing strangely in the large silent space.

He said nothing, and after a moment Rose decided to risk sitting down next to him. It was one of those sofas without armrests or a backrest and he was angled so that his head was against the glass, his long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. The sofa was just wide enough that she could sit cross-legged by his feet without encroaching on his personal space. His eyes followed her as she moved to sit down, his expression eerily blank.

'I'm sorry,' Rose blurted.

'Don't,' Peter snapped instantly, his tone sharp and his expression stony. 'I don't want your pity.'

Rose recoiled slightly at the scathing remark, but she was determined to hold her own.

'Good. Because you're not getting it.'

He clearly hadn't been expecting such a blunt reply, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

'It's not what you want to hear,' she continued after a beat, softening her tone somewhat, 'but I can't give you what you're looking for. You're one of the most important people in my life, Peter, in more ways than you can possibly imagine, and I care about you very much. What I said tonight _was_ out of line, but it did need saying. So don't you dare think I'm here offering you pity. I'm here because _I'm_ being selfish, and I'd still like to call you my best friend.'

Peter's expression remained inscrutable before he finally let out a whooshed breath, his hands running distractedly through his hair so that it stuck up in all directions.

'Did you just friendzone me?' he accused disbelievingly, although his eyes were warm with forgiveness. The regret and hurt still lingered in the brown irises, but the emotions had been dulled for the time being.

Rose laughed, launching a pillow half-heartedly in his direction. He caught it of course, and managed to hurl it back much more precisely.

'I _am_ sorry though,' Rose murmured quietly once their laughter had died down.

He looked at her seriously.

'Don't be,' he said casually. 'I might have accepted that I've temporarily been regulated to the "friendzone", but that doesn't mean I'll stop caring. One day, Rose Tyler,' he promised surely, 'you'll stop fighting _this_. And when you do, I'll be waiting.'

It was a remarkably profound statement, and one Rose didn't really have an answer to. So instead she tactfully changed subject.

'What are you doing over here? Moving the furniture around is new for you.'

For a moment he looked as though he was going to push the subject, but then he seemed to change his mind; his expression becoming thoughtful.

'Come here,' he said suddenly, patting the space beside him. 'I want to show you something.'

There was a nervous energy about Peter, and he radiated excitement and anticipation. Rose recognised the mannerism; it was the look the Doctor would get right before he'd open the doors of the TARDIS to reveal a new world to her.

'Trust me,' Peter murmured imploringly, misinterpreting her silence as hesitation.

He sounded so honest and hopeful. Without thinking about it Rose moved forward.

'Lie back, like I am,' he instructed, hastily rearranging the pillows he'd piled up so that she too had something to rest her head on. 'Now,' Peter whispered encouragingly, 'look up, and tell me what you see.'

He was right beside her, so close that they were almost touching, but Rose followed his instructions and turned her own gaze towards the ceiling. She was tempted to make a joke about the architecture, but she glanced to her right and realised that would be a mistake. He was looking up as well, but not _just_ up: he was looking _out_. It was the night's sky that had captured his attention so entirely. He was so enthralled in his observations that he didn't realise that for a moment, Rose's attention was captured entirely by him.

She'd never seen him so relaxed before. All the tension from the day had faded and there was no sign of his earlier tumultuous emotions. His expression was completely open, full of awe and wonder. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked _content_.

Eventually, Rose turned her own attention to the night sky, not wanting to be caught out staring at him. Without really thinking about it she began to speak aloud, telling him what she could see. She started close and worked her way outwards; describing their reflections in the glass windows and the horrible light pollution, before starting on the stars themselves. And once she'd focused on the stars, she began to name them. The light pollution really was terrible, but Rose knew this night sky and her imagination easily took over where necessary. Without realising it, she'd pointed out half a dozen constellations that were entirely obscured by the city's lights. Eventually she ran out of things to describe and fell silent. That was when she realised Peter had stopped looking at the sky long ago. Instead his attention had fixated upon her as he stared at her in astonishment. He'd never looked at her like that before, and Rose found herself temporarily lost within his gaze as she catalogued the myriad of emotions. Wonder and awe were prominent, but perhaps, if she looked closely, there was also the tiniest hint of respect.

'You know their names,' he said simply.

'Yeah,' she answered weakly, finally breaking away from his gaze. 'I had this friend,' she felt compelled to add. 'He could name any star in the sky, wherever we were. Guess I must have picked some of their names up from him,' she finished dryly.

Peter rolled his eyes, and the moment was broken entirely.

'He sounds like a tosser,' he said dismissively, returning his gaze to the night sky.

Rose smothered a laugh and followed Peter's example, her eyes drifting skyward once more. It wasn't proper star gazing – not in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world – but it was nice.

'What do you think about when you look up at the stars?' Rose murmured quietly, sometime later.

At the sound of her voice Peter stirred slightly, and Rose wondered if she'd accidently woken him. They had been quiet for quite some time. She glanced over at him to check, and found he was still wide awake and watching the stars. He must have noticed her staring because he shifted so that he was lying on his left side, staring intently at her.

'Do you really want to know?'

His expression was serious, but Rose found herself silently nodding. Letting out a breath he rolled back onto his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

'I think about the Doctor,' he answered honestly. 'His whole life is out there amongst the stars. Sometimes I wonder what that must be like,' he finished frankly.

Rose was surprised by the turn in conversation. Peter had spoken to her before about the Doctor, but rarely had he spoken so candidly. In general, he avoided discussing the man who permeated his dreams unless it was absolutely necessary; preferring to record his thoughts in the journal Donna had bought him. He kept the journal exclusively private, although he had relented once or twice and shown her a few of his drawings. The images of his other faces had been particularly intriguing and she'd drunk the likenesses in greedily, committing them to memory. Still, she found it strange that Peter had been up here contemplating the Doctor.

'Would you want the Doctor's life?' she asked into the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. She rolled onto her right side, so that she could see Peter's face and gauge his reaction.

Her question sparked an immediate reaction and a myriad of emotions flickered across his face: fear, longing, regret, sorrow, and intrigue, amongst them. Contentment won out though, and that was the expression he wore as he too rolled onto his side, so that they were both lying face to face now.

'No, I wouldn't,' he said calmly, his tone absolutely certain.

His answer wasn't what she'd expected – not with such certainty at least – and she worried that her shock was obvious. Indeed Peter seemed to notice because he elaborated without being asked.

'The man I dream about has too many regrets,' he said quietly. 'They weigh him down until all that is left is a lonely old man, searching for solace in a universe that can never give him peace. Everywhere he goes he leaves a trail of destruction. Around him people get hurt, and people die. Yet he walks away _every_ time. Forced to endure, when everything he's ever cared about has turned to dust. It's not a life I would want, not ever.'

Rose frowned in disbelief. 'His life is more than that. All those worlds he's seen and all those lives he's touched for _good_. Surely he remembers those times?

Peter looked at her strangely and Rose realised belatedly that she'd spoken far too familiarly.

'If there ever was a time like that, he's long forgotten it,' Peter said slowly, sounding unconvinced. 'What's it matter anyway?' he huffed dismissively. 'He's only a story.'

'Yeah,' Rose agreed half-heartedly, only just managing to meet Peter's probing gaze. Her slip had piqued his curiosity and he'd clearly found her reaction bizarre. He let it pass though, for which she was grateful.

'It's late,' he observed quietly. 'You should go to bed.'

They were still lying face to face, and Rose fixed him with a sceptical expression.

'_You_ should go to bed,' she replied impudently.

He smirked, raising one eyebrow challengingly. 'I already _am_ in bed.'

'You're on your sofa, Peter,' Rose pointed out, dryly. 'That doesn't count, and you know it. Particularly, when you've still got this with you,' she added, leaning over to snatch his phone up from where it had fallen beside him. She waved the phone disapprovingly at Peter. He had a terrible habit of staying up late and ordering strange items off eBay.

'That's my phone,' Peter commented stupidly, his brow furrowed as he attempted to pinpoint how she'd gotten hold of it.

'Blimey, how much have you had to drink?' Rose muttered, searching around for the almost empty bottle of Midori.

'Not enough,' Peter replied blandly, sounding quite distressed. 'If I'd had a bit more, I'd have had the courage to ask you to stay.'

'What?'

Rose pulled back rapidly, moving onto her knees as she put some distance between Peter and herself. She wondered if she'd misheard him but the intensity of his gaze, and his troubled expression did not alleviate her trepidation.

'You said that we could only be friends,' he mumbled miserably. 'But I don't want that, Rose. I want you to stay tonight,' he continued desperately, pleading for a second chance. 'I want you to stay every night, forever.'

'Peter, stop it!' Rose cut in sharply, unable to let him continue. 'This is ridiculous.'

'It's only ridiculous because you're not taking me seriously.'

'Peter, please –' Rose begged, but he cut her off.

'I'd do it, Rose,' he continued desperately. 'Doors, carpets, walls – the whole bloody lot. I'll even get a fucking mortgage if it means you'll stay.'

Rose shook her head in denial, unable to believe what she was hearing.

'That's not _you_, Peter,' she disagreed. 'You're not that man. You don't do domestic.'

'People change, Rose,' he denied vehemently, moving suddenly so that he too was kneeling.

'Not that much,' she whispered.

'I'd do domestic for you, Rose,' he said earnestly, reaching out for her hand.

She hated herself for it – for leading him on – but she didn't draw away. Gently he clasped her hands in his own, interlacing their fingers.

'Domestics with you,' he murmured, giving her hands a brief squeeze as he attempted to coax a smile from her. 'That's not so bad?'

Rose bit back a laugh that was almost a sob.

'I could _never_ ask that of you.'

'You wouldn't have to,' he replied solemnly, gazing at her unflinchingly. 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Rose Tyler.'

Rose shook her head in disbelief. This was too much. She couldn't have this conversation with him, not again. With the utmost care, she disengaged their hands.

'You _can't,_' she blurted, hating that a small part of her wanted so very much to give in to him. To live out this impossible future that he was offering her, simply because it just might work out for them.

'I _can_,' he promised. 'I'd regenerate for you, Rose.'

And there it was – the stark reminder that this man had no idea who he was. He couldn't remember that he was the most infuriating, unpredictable, and hopeless alien in the world, who just happened to be the most important man in her life. The most wonderful and self-less man, who'd offered her the universe, shown her a different way of living her life, and somewhere along the way had stolen her heart. The same man who couldn't park a TARDIS if his life depended on it, who stuck fingers in jam jars because he was certain that was the most efficient way to get jam, and the man who would _always_ do the right thing – no matter the cost. And the same man, who despite all his promises and assurances, couldn't remember that he _had_ regenerated for her.

'Please stop, Peter,' she pleaded, because this conversation had to come to an end. 'This is impossible.'

'Why?' he demanded stubbornly.

There was very little distance between them now. His knees were touching her knees, his hands resting a hairsbreadth away from hers, and they were close enough now that she could feel his breath on her face as he exhaled, waiting patiently for her answer. It would be so very easy for her to lean forward, to close that small infinitesimal space between them, and capture his lips with her own. But despite their physical closeness, it was as though they were kneeling on separate sides of a chasm; a small but deceptively deep chasm.

And it was a choice for Rose.

She could either cross that chasm, and risk pulling Peter down with her, or she could take a step back on her side, and keep them both safe. There really wasn't a choice, so Rose answered him with brutal honesty.

'I'm in love with someone else.'

The words seemed to tear through him, and Rose watched as he visibly crumbled before her.

'You've never mentioned him before,' he muttered mutinously, unwilling even now to give up the fight. His eyes searched hers, looking for some kind of chink in her armour – some way to get past this obstruction – but he came up empty-handed.

'No,' Rose agreed.

'I don't care.'

'Of course _you_ don't,' Rose replied cynically, sounding almost hysterical. 'You're too persistent for your own good, but it's _stupid_ for us to pretend otherwise. One day, Peter, I'm going to have to go home. Not England – _home_. And when I do, we won't see each other again: ever. I'm sorry, so sorry, but you and I have _very_ separate paths to walk.'

'What the _fuck_ does that mean!?' Peter spluttered incredulously, his speech slurring absurdly.

Rose smiled wistfully as she looked him over, reminded of just how drunk he was. One day he'd understand what she'd meant, but not tonight. Tonight, he needed to go to bed and sleep off his intoxication. He'd been relatively calm since she'd been upstairs, but he'd clearly had a _lot_ to drink and her words from earlier had obviously been playing on his mind for quite some time. She supposed she should have noticed sooner, but he'd been so pensive whilst star gazing that he'd lulled her into a false sense of security.

'Peter, you're drunk,' she stated succinctly, getting up off the sofa completely.

His eyes followed her movements, although they moved sluggishly; testament to his drunkenness. He was crashing fast now. Leaning forward, Rose prodded him into action as she helped him up. His balance was definitely off, and they only just managed to make it into his room without any major mishaps.

'Chances are,' Rose continued, as she pulled the sheets down with one hand, 'that you're going to wake up in the morning and remember very little of this evening.'

He didn't protest as she gently deposited him on the bed, pausing only to hastily pull his shoes off. Thankfully, he was close enough to passing out that he didn't make any lewd references as she rearranged the covers around him.

'Even if I do,' he promised, almost sounding lucid. 'It won't change how I feel about you.'

Rose shook her head with bemusement, watching as the brown eyes surrendered to the lure of sleep and his eyelids finally closed. He was mostly asleep when Rose leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, reflexively smoothing the hair back before she made to leave.

'I know it won't, darling,' she whispered in answer. 'Because even now – even when you're a stranger in your own body – I still love _you_.'

Rose had already left the room when Peter rolled over in his sleep, a small sad smile playing on his lips.

'Quite right, too,' he murmured once, before a dreamless sleep claimed him.

o0o

'You're up late,' Donna remarked as she watched Rose stumble out of her bedroom, sharing a bemused look with Martha as they watched Rose yawn hugely.

'Couldn't sleep,' Rose offered in explanation, pulling up a seat at the countertop with them. 'Morning, Martha,' she added.

'You sure you're awake?' Martha teased, handing Rose the third take-away coffee cup she'd brought upstairs with her that morning. Donna suspected the contents were probably lukewarm at best, but Rose didn't seem to mind.

'I am _now_,' Rose replied petulantly, pulling a face at the two smirking women.

Donna gave her a moment's respite before becoming serious.

'Good,' she said decisively, immediately gaining Rose's full attention. 'Because, I think Martha might be on to something.'

Rose looked momentarily puzzled before her gaze fell on the laptop Donna had been looking at when she'd walked in, and Donna could tell she'd realised that they hadn't been sitting idle all morning.

'What is it?' she asked immediately, all traces of her earlier amusement gone.

Donna looked pointedly towards Martha, indicating that she should provide the explanation.

'It's not much,' Martha began carefully, 'but when you're in my line of work you learn not to take things at face value. I've been keeping track of the local newspapers since I've been here, and last night I came across a few articles that, to me, sound suspicious. I was just showing, Donna.'

Carefully, Martha handed the laptop over to Rose. The two articles Donna had just read through open on the desktop. The trio sat in silence as Rose scanned the two articles rapidly. They were quick reads and within minutes she'd finished them both.

'"Biting"?' Rose queried, a thought occurring to her. 'Is this what you were asking about last night?'

Martha nodded. 'That's not all though. Several weeks ago the police were called to a disturbance at Beacher's Madhouse, where a young woman alleged a man in his mid-thirties had attempted to bite her. The police didn't bother looking into it though because there was no sign of the man, and the woman was too inebriated to give a decent description.'

'Beacher's Madhouse...' Donna repeated thoughtfully. 'That's just round the corner isn't it?'

Martha nodded grimly.

'How'd you hear about the police incident?' Rose asked interestedly, handing the laptop back to Martha.

'Benefit of being part of UNIT,' Martha replied lightly. 'Words like "firewall" don't have much meaning with them.'

Rose chuckled before turning to Donna. 'What do you think of it all?'

Donna considered her answer for a moment before replying as honestly as she could. 'A year ago, I'd have thought they were nutters, you know? But now...well I know it can't be the Family again, but there are plenty of other aliens out there and I'm not sure we can ignore something as strange as this. It just rubs me the wrong way,' she finished frankly, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling the more she thought about it. 'I think we need to be careful.'

Rose nodded thoughtfully as she digested Donna's words.

'I agree,' she said after a moment. 'It's too strange, and if there's one thing travelling with the Doctor has taught me it's that there's no such thing as coincidence. Martha?' she added after a beat, seeking the final opinion.

'I think we need to be careful,' Martha began slowly. 'There was something else I picked up courtesy of UNIT. The guy who got me the police files mentioned that a few of the local schools have reported increased rates of truancy. I'm no expert on school attendance in Vegas, but if the local schools thought it was strange enough to mention it to the police...well I think we should keep it in the backs of our minds.'

The trio sat in silence for a moment, assimilating the new information.

'I _really_ don't like this,' Donna said quietly but determinedly. 'We've no idea what we're up against.'

'Well,' Rose suggested, half-heartedly flippant. 'It could really be nothing and we're all just reading way too much into a set of perfectly ordinary circumstances?'

The silence that followed revealed _exactly_ how likely they all thought that scenario was.

o0o

That evening when Francesca didn't turn up for the show, Donna wasn't particularly worried. Admittedly she'd been a bit surprised that the girl hadn't phoned in, but given Donna had once left Francesca in the lurch she felt she didn't really have a leg to stand on when it came to demanding explanations. In hindsight, after their earlier discussion that morning perhaps Donna _should_ have been more suspicious of Francesca's conspicuous absence. Come the next morning though, the news headlines made it abundantly clear as to why Francesca had failed to show up to work: _BRUTAL MURDER CLAIMS LIFE OF PETER VINCENT'S EX-GIRLFRIEND._


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

_64_..._65_..._66_..._67..._

Peter continued to count as the fob watch landed face down in his palm for the _68__th_ time. Each time he tossed it into the air, it would rotate exactly three times before landing face down with the strange symbols that adorned the anterior surface hidden from view.

_72_..._73_..._74_..._75_...

He didn't know what it was that he found so comforting about this particular prop. It was simply an old fashioned chainless fob watch that fit snugly into the palm of his hand. Nothing special. What fascinated Peter most though were the peculiar etchings that covered one surface of the watch: strange circular patterns interspersed with numerous symbols. Sometimes he found if he looked too long at them, that he could almost imagine the symbols as a legible language. That was impossible though, and Peter knew it.

_89_..._90_..._91_..._92_...

Peter had found the fob watch the first night he'd performed at Hard Rock. He'd only picked it up for a moment, wondering where it had come from before he'd deposited it in the top drawer of his dresser. The only reason the memory had stuck with him was that in the single moment he'd held that watch, all trace of his opening night nerves had vanished. He wasn't particularly prone to nerves and he didn't have any particular superstitious rituals he engaged in before going on stage, but the few times he'd found it necessary to seek the quiet of his dressing room before a performance, he'd always found himself fiddling with the fob watch. Somehow, impossibly, the watch managed to provide him with some small measure of comfort when all else failed. And now more than anything else he _needed_ comfort.

_108_..._109_..._110_..._111_...

He still couldn't quite believe that Francesca had been murdered. They'd found her body two days ago, in an alleyway off the service entrance to Hard Rock. Peter had been hauled down to the local police station less than an hour after the gruesome discovery had been made and her body identified. Apparently it had been well known that _she'd_ broken up with him, and according to other "anonymous" members of the dance troupe he'd taken the break up "badly". Thus the local law enforcement, in all their infinite wisdom, had seen fit to promptly lay the blame squarely at Peter's feet, and had arrested him immediately.

_136_..._137_..._138_..._139_...

He'd been grilled for several hours before he'd begrudgingly been released without apology, after it had become quite clear that there was absolutely no forensic evidence that could tie Peter to the case. Not to mention the fact that he had two cast iron alibis, in the form of Donna and Martha, for the alleged time of death. Rose had also been with them, but for some reason neither Donna nor Martha had seen fit to mention that. Luckily he'd caught on quickly to their subterfuge and hadn't continued to insist that Rose Tyler had also been present. If the officer who'd questioned him had found that odd, he'd thankfully let the matter pass.

_172_..._173_..._174_..._175_...

Tonight would be the first show post Francesca's death. Hard Rock had extended their condolences to Peter, but at the end of the day they'd sponsored him because his show raked in huge audiences. As such, they'd deemed two days without profit as sufficient bereavement time for Peter. They'd also insisted that he present the new segment of his act in tonight's show. Having his name all over the papers –albeit for rather unflattering reasons – had led to a spike in ticket sales, and according to Donna they were completely sold out for the next three weeks. Their demands meant that Peter had spent the past two days running rehearsal after rehearsal for the new show content. He'd been refining the ideas for over two weeks and hadn't quite been ready to incorporate them into _Fright_ _Night_ yet, but he had no choice now. As such, tempers had been particularly short on the floor. Instead of yelling at the incompetent staff though, he'd walked off the stage – taking a self-imposed lunch break – and had left Donna to wrap up the remainder of the rehearsal. They'd manage well enough without him, in fact the rehearsal would probably run a lot more efficiently without him there for the time being. He'd needed space, and so he'd sought respite in his dressing room where he wouldn't be disturbed.

_263_..._264_..._265_...

Peter dropped the watch on its _266__th_ toss as the sound of a knock on his dressing room door distracted him.

'Come in,' he growled, picking the watch up from the floor.

A young man Peter had never seen before stood in the doorway. The boy was a head shorter than him with short brown curly hair and wearing, rather incongruously, a woollen blazer with some kind of name tag attached.

'What do you want?' he snapped, putting the fob watch away in its drawer. 'Well?' Peter demanded when the boy remained silent. He almost seemed surprised to have run into Peter.

'Mr Vincent?' the boy finally asked. Peter didn't dignify the question with an answer. The boy had clearly been directed to his dressing room.

'I'm from the Vegas Sun,' the boy continued quickly, apparently sensing Peter's looming dismissal. 'We had an appointment today.'

It was almost a question.

'I don't think so,' Peter replied doubtfully. He didn't recall Donna mentioning anything, but he couldn't say for sure that there wasn't an appointment. 'Did you speak with Donna?'

The boy waved the question away.

'Yeah, yeah,' he replied quickly. 'I'm doing that article on vampires. Separating the myth from fact, remember?'

Peter didn't. He looked at the boy more closely.

'What and you want a quote?' he asked sceptically.

The boy shrugged half-heartedly.

'That's a shit idea for an article.'

He wasn't in the mood to play games. Not today. His frank tone seemed to stir something in the boy though, and unexpectedly he stood his ground.

'Look, please Mr Vincent...I...I need your expertise and you're the man on this stuff...so...' he trailed off, staring beseechingly at Peter.

There was a sort of desperation to the boy's enquiry, which surprised Peter. He looked the boy over again and suddenly he noticed what he'd been missing.

'It's your first assignment isn't it?' he said tiredly, understanding now why the boy had been so persistent.

The boy half-shrugged again; neither confirming nor denying the assertion. He didn't look happy precisely but there was a definite spark of relief and hope in his eyes. Peter ran a hand through his hair as he studied the stranger. He really didn't want to give an interview, but at the same time sitting around back stage by himself, alone with his thoughts, wasn't particularly appealing either.

Donna had obviously given the boy the all clear though so perhaps he really had had the appointment. Besides it was nice to have someone showing _some_ interest in his hobby. He could count on one hand the number of nice things the girls had said about his collection in the entire time he'd known them. He let out a resigned sigh.

'Well, why the fuck not?' he answered routinely. 'Come upstairs and I'll give you an exclusive.'

o0o

Rose was finalising the call sheet for the evening when Donna called her over. Passing the tablet off to one of the assistant stage manager's she met Donna in the middle of the stage. Following the terrible news that Francesca had been murdered, Rose had temporarily stepped in as Donna's PA. Rose had only met Francesca once or twice, but she had been a sweet enough girl and Rose could tell that both Donna and Peter were taking the death hard. A large part of that was undoubtedly due to the knowledge that the death had been brutal.

Donna had learnt the gruesome details through Martha – who'd managed to gain access to the autopsy report courtesy of her UNIT contacts – whilst Peter had had the disturbing images presented mercilessly to him by the thick-headed detectives who'd been interviewing him. Whatever had killed Francesca – and all three women were quite certain that it was _whatever_ rather than _whoever_ – had not been kind. The poor girl had had her throat torn out completely, as though a wild animal had torn into her without hesitation. The grisly images had revealed in depth the extent of damage caused by the killer, and Rose had felt for Peter particularly when she'd learnt that he'd been privy to the gruesome images. The detectives had apparently found Peter's violent reaction to the photos somewhat amusing. Rose thought they must be sick in the head if they'd gained any pleasure from watching a grown man dry-heave.

It was harsh, in Rose's opinion, to expect Peter to rebound from his grief within the space of two days, but she supposed that was show business. Peter had confided in Rose that he hadn't been in love with Francesca, but regardless of what label was applied to their relationship Rose knew that the young girl had been his only confidant for the month or so before Donna had arrived in Las Vegas. It wasn't a long period of time but considering Peter had come into existence on Boxing Day, he'd spent almost a third of his life with Francesca. It was understandable then that her death would have an impact on him. Still he seemed to be doing okay at present, and the fact that he'd managed to get mostly through the rehearsal without resorting to yelling at stage hands was promising. Instead he'd walked out on the tech rehearsal halfway through _before_ he could start yelling, and given that Donna hadn't called him back onto stage Rose assumed she too had thought it best that he sit the remainder of the rehearsal out.

'Did you give a journalist permission to speak with Peter?' Donna asked as soon as Rose was within earshot, bringing her back to the present.

'No. Why?'

Donna frowned. 'Peter's taken him upstairs. Could you go and check up on him. It's just I don't like the idea of some stranger arriving so soon after –'

She broke off suddenly, but Rose didn't need her to complete the thought. It wasn't unusual for Peter to invite complete strangers into his home but they tended to be young females, and even so he hadn't done _that_ for quite some time. With Francesca's murder still fresh in their minds and the very real possibility now that someone _was_ trying to get to the Doctor, all three of them had agreed to keep a closer eye on Peter. Having him wander off with an unknown man was not a comforting thought.

'I'd go myself,' Donna continued, regaining her composure, 'but this lot require my full attention.' She gestured around them at the cast and crew milling about, awaiting further instructions from Donna.

'Yeah, of course,' Rose replied immediately. 'I'll go up right now. He probably is just some stupid journalist. God knows we've had enough of them snooping around the past two days.'

Donna smiled tightly; relieved to know Rose was on the case. She couldn't pause to chat any longer though as the tech at the sound desk called out for her. Rolling her eyes in exasperation Donna hurried off, undoubtedly to head-off an impending disaster, and leaving Rose to make her way upstairs.

o0o

The moment Rose stepped into Peter's apartment she knew there was no cause for alarm. She could hear him talking rapidly – and in fact quite enthusiastically – with someone. She rolled her eyes as she caught part of their conversation.

'You want to know how to kill a vampire? Seriously? Well...let's think. You've got fire...beheading...umm, you can make him a big garlicky omelette...or go traditional, stake through the heart – BAM!'

His sudden shout took her by surprise and she moved into the living room a bit more quickly. Just in case. From what she'd heard though, it sounded like he was simply discussing vampires with the journalist. Quite plausible really, given his show drew heavily on vampire mythology. Entering the living room she felt her heart rate calm as she found him perfectly unharmed.

He'd clearly not bothered to change out of his costume yet as he was slouched unsavourily in his favourite wing-backed chair, wearing only his leather trousers and boots. She could tell he'd noticed her arrival because he hurriedly sat up, resuming a much more polite posture. Guiltily, he attempted to hide his glass of Midori, knowing full well that drinking before _Fright Night_ never went down well with either Rose or Donna.

'Rose!' Peter squeaked, sounding as surprised as he looked. 'What are you doing up here!?'

'I came to check up on you,' she replied dryly.

Catching sight of a discarded shirt draped haphazardly over the back of a chair, Rose chucked it towards Peter. 'Appearing half-naked in polite company is generally considered rather rude,' she added pointedly.

'That's me,' Peter agreed long-sufferingly. 'Rude and not ginger.'

Rose had long since gotten used to the Doctor occasionally slipping out, and this time was no different. She kept her expression schooled neutrally, although she needn't have bothered as Peter was entirely distracted by the task of pulling on the T-shirt she'd given him.

'Happy?' he asked sarcastically once he was done.

'Immeasurably,' she replied dead-pan, before dropping decisively into one of the free chairs. They'd been arranged into a circle, so she was sat with Peter on her left and the stranger on her right. Rose turned her attention towards him for the first time. 'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Pete?'

'Err...this is...uh...'

Rose rolled her eyes and wondered why she'd bothered to ask Peter.

'Rose Tyler,' she said warily, offering her hand to the boy. 'And you are?'

The boy shifted nervously before taking her hand and gripping it surprisingly firmly, if a little unsurely.

'Charley Brewster,' he supplied. 'I'm from the Vegas Sun.'

It almost sounded like a question, and Rose felt her eyebrow rise of its own accord.

'Are you really?' she asked politely, staring deliberately at the fake ID card. She'd noticed immediately that Charley had simply torn the banner off a copy of the _Las Vegas Sun _and shoved it into a cheap plastic ID sleeve. How he'd managed to get past security Rose couldn't fathom, but thankfully he didn't strike her as posing too much of a threat. Apart from his obvious youth she could tell he hadn't put much thought into his disguise. For one thing, the blazer he was wearing clearly belonged to someone with much broader shoulders than he. In fact his whole get up cried impromptu and Rose began to wonder why Charley had sought Peter out. Surprisingly though the boy didn't back down from her blunt question.

'Yeah,' he replied firmly, meeting Rose's gaze boldly.

Charley seemed determined to keep up the charade, and the fact that Peter had yet to question his credentials seemed to have bolstered his confidence. Briefly, Rose considered calling him out but decided to let it play out for the moment. After all, he looked to be seventeen at most, and if his backpack was anything to go by he was definitely still in school.

'Of course you are,' she replied easily. 'Now, I believe you two were in the middle of a discussion...?'

Charley nodded warily.

'Well, don't mind me,' she said cheerfully, turning expectantly towards Peter.

His eyes narrowed minutely, undoubtedly suspicious of her enthusiasm; Peter knew very well that Rose didn't share the same level of interest in vampires as he did.

'We're talking about vampires,' he said slowly, testing the waters. 'I really don't think you'll be interested in sticking around.'

Rose smiled disarmingly before turning attentively towards Charley. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter glance longingly towards his abandoned Midori glass before deciding it was a lost cause. He too returned his attention to Charley and waved impatiently for the boy to continue on with his questions.

'All that stuff you mentioned,' Charley began hesitantly, '...stakes...and beheading...it really works?'

'Well,' Peter replied, drawing out the word, 'maybe not the omelette.'

Rose noticed that despite the casual question, Charley seemed dissatisfied with the lazy answer. Peter must have noticed as well because his eyebrows shot up incredulously before he expanded upon his answer.

'How the fuck should I know?'

'Aren't...' Charley began hesitantly, before changing tact suddenly. He was clearly nervous and Rose watched as he shook his head helplessly, searching for some answer that Peter wasn't giving. 'I dunno...you have all this stuff...you...you're "Peter Vincent"...vampire...I dunno...'

There was something about this boy that set Rose on edge. He was clearly terrified, and for some bizarre reason he'd come to seek answers from Peter. It was very, very odd. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable either. Rose glanced across at Peter, watching him fidget as he listened to the younger man. For some reason Peter was _bothered _by Charley. In fact he was rattled enough for his tendency towards rudeness to resurface without warning.

'I read books man,' he scoffed incredulously. 'What? You think...you think I'm hanging out with Dracula? And the Easter Bunny? Fuck off!'

He stood then, and swaggered over to his countertop leaving Rose with Charley. She watched him go but resisted the urge to follow him over to the countertop. Rose could tell Peter was on edge, but she needed the rest of Charley's story to come out and so she made no move to stop the boy as he pursued Peter to the countertop.

'Look, I'm sorry,' Charley said hastily, hefting his backpack nervously onto his shoulder. 'But I have a personal interest in this. I think one of them got my friend.'

Rose snapped upright from her slouched position, suddenly invested one hundred percent in the conversation.

'What?' Peter replied sceptically, his concentration fixed on the glass of water he was pouring. '"One of them"? Meaning a vampire?'

'Yeah, Jerry,' Charley replied hurriedly, glad that Peter was listening to him. 'He lives next door to me.'

'Jerry?' Peter repeated sarcastically. 'Jerry the Vampire?'

He laughed loudly, and his relief was almost palpable. Rose realised then that Peter thought Charley was joking. Something about Charley had initially put him on edge but the name "Jerry" had clearly put him at ease. The opposite was true for Rose. She was more certain than ever now that Charley was involved with something extra-terrestrial. His desperation and his story were simply not adding up for her. This wasn't some teenager out to pull a prank on Peter Vincent. This was a boy who was only just holding it together, and he was someone who was desperate for answers.

'Look, do you think I don't know how this sounds!?' Charley exclaimed frustratingly, his tone tinged with anxiety. 'I mean two days ago I would have...I would have _laughed_ in my face...but it's really happening. Man, I am so far down the rabbit hole...'

Rose was watching Peter closely and she noticed the moment his amusement disappeared. In an instant his expression became serious as the glass of water he'd been lifting to drink from was halted midway to his lips. His gaze was fixed directly on Charley, but even from the other side of the room Rose could see the fear blossoming within the brown irises. Peter was properly scared, and that worried Rose.

'Look...' Charley continued, completely oblivious to Peter's change in demeanour. 'I was in his house...or his lair or whatever...and I got these pictures...if you just _look_ at them!'

Charley had pulled out several sheets of crumpled paper, and he was hurriedly smoothing them out as he stumbled through his explanation. What he hadn't noticed was that Peter had taken several steps backwards, determined to put as much space between him and the sheets of paper as possible. He was terrified.

'Okay, okay,' Peter said flatly. 'Get out.'

'No, _please_,' Charley cried desperately, looking beseechingly towards Rose as though hoping she might change Peter's mind.

'You're a nut job,' Peter concluded resolutely, his back flush to the wall. 'Rose?' he called urgently, his eyes begging her to get him out of this situation.

Charley spared her the briefest of glances as he caught sight of her moving from her seat. He'd obviously sensed that he was about to be kicked out and he shot her a pleading look before turning back to Peter once more.

'I'm _not_ a nut job. I _know _what I saw.'

'No, no, no,' Peter cut in immediately, his speech hurried and his eyes wide as he crossed his arms protectively across his body. 'No, you don't. _Illusion_, remember? People see what they want to see. This is...'

Peter trailed off, apparently incapable of putting his thoughts into words. Charley ignored his distress though, far too anxious to forestall now, and instead he attempted to capitalise on Peter's momentary loss of speech.

'You don't collect this stuff; you don't have all this stuff if you don't believe. And I _promise_ you, I can take you to him. I can show you what you've been waiting for –'

'What? In Clark County, Nevada?' Peter snapped tightly, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. 'Yeah, well that's a hot bed of supernatural activity.'

Rose could tell he was very close to losing it as he once more looked beseechingly towards her, silently pleading with her to get Charley out of his home. The boy wasn't quite done though.

'It is though, it's genius...it's _genius_. It's a transient population. People work all night...they sleep all day...'

Silently Rose stepped forward, finally reaching Charley's side. The boy wasn't going to stop, and Peter didn't need to hear this. She'd heard enough now to know that Charley wasn't making this up.

'Get this loser out of my sight, _please_,' Peter requested tightly, falling back on sharp insult. It was a defence mechanism he had, and one Rose hadn't seen employed for a long time. She made to reach out for Charley's arm, sensing that Peter needed to be left alone _now_. The boy saw her coming though and pulled his arm away from her before she could grasp him.

'Look, STOP!' Charley shouted, thumping his fist down upon the countertop.

Rose jumped.

'Woah!' Peter exclaimed, looking livid.

'Look, he got my friend already,' Charley shouted frantically, startling both Rose and Peter.

Rose felt her heart go out to the boy as she saw the fight leave him, as he finally revealed the reason behind his visit. Her instincts had been right.

'I am not crazy. I mean...I'm not!? I don't wanna know this shit! _Please_, just _look_ at these pictures!'

Peter lunged forward and for a moment Rose thought he was going to manhandle the boy, but at the last minute he stopped short, pulling up so that he was directly in Charley's face.

'GET THE _FUCK,_ OUT OF MY HOUSE!'

There could be no mistaking Peter's wishes now, and Charley seemed to realise that as well. Meekly he allowed Rose to pull him from the room. She cast one brief glance back at Peter, reassuring herself that he was okay to be left alone for a few minutes. He was still standing by the counter, the only outward sign of his distress the pressure he was exerting as he gripped himself tightly around the middle; as though he were trying very hard to hold himself upright by grip alone. He was quite obviously _not_ alright, but she knew he'd be fine alone for a few moments. Silently she guided Charley into the lift. It was only once the doors had sealed shut, and she'd selected their destination, that she turned to the boy and spoke to him.

'I'd like you to meet two friends of mine, Charley. I think they might just be able to help you with your vampire problem.'

o0o

Peter had moved by the time Rose made it back upstairs. She'd left Charley with Donna and Martha, promising the boy that there was no one better to help him than them. He'd simply seemed relieved that someone was taking him seriously. Rose was certain that together Donna and Martha would get to the bottom of "Jerry the Vampire". Given her suspicions that Jerry hailed from somewhere a little further abroad than Charley was thinking, Martha and Donna were the best people in Las Vegas to help him. Meanwhile, that left Rose to deal with Peter, and looking at him now she wasn't entirely sure her task was going to be any easier.

He'd moved outside onto the small balcony that adorned his penthouse. Rose had never seen him use the space before as it was rather cramped and generally unappealing at the best of times. It took her a moment to locate the sliding door that granted access to the balcony, and the moment she stepped out she realised just how cold it was outside. Despite nearing the end of winter the temperatures had been record-breaking low for the past month, and Rose could see her breath already forming before her. Not to mention they were half a dozen storeys above ground and completely at the mercy of the blistering wind chill factor. She pulled her loose jacket more tightly around her and hurried over to where Peter was leant up against the railing. He didn't seem to notice her arrival, his gaze eerily blank as he stared into nothingness. Concerned, Rose reached out for him, realising as she did so that he was only wearing the raggedy t-shirt she'd forced upon him an hour ago. He hadn't put on a jacket before stepping outside. She let out a gasp as she came into contact with his bare arm.

'You're freezing!' she cried in alarm, automatically beginning to rub his arm in a half-hearted attempt to warm him up again. 'Come inside before you catch your death!'

He didn't seem to hear her, remaining unresponsive as Rose futilely attempted to continue warming him.

'Pete?' she called gently, realising that he was completely lost in his thoughts. Her plea must have registered with him though, for a moment later he turned his blank eyes upon her. Rose held his gaze, and in a matter of blinks clarity and recognition returned. Smiling kindly, Rose reached for his hand and entwined their fingers without thought before leading him back inside.

Ensuring the sliding door was properly secured so that the cool air would remain outside where it belonged, she guided him towards the fireplace. His fingers were icy to the touch and his cheeks were blotched red by the cold; he needed to be warmed up, and quickly. Without really thinking about it Rose stood him as close to the roaring fire as possible before gently guiding first his left hand and then his right hand beneath her jacket, in a sort of bear hug. Stepping closer, she pulled herself flush against him and allowed her own body heat to warm him up.

He'd stiffened initially as she'd guided his first hand under her jacket, but he'd seemed to catch on fairly quickly to her intentions and she'd felt him relax as she'd pulled him closer. His chin was resting comfortably on the crown of her head now, and she could feel his single heart beating steadily beneath her cheek as she rested against his chest. She'd had to hold back a shiver as she'd guided his freezing hands beneath her jacket – her thin t-shirt no barrier to his frozen digits – but now she could feel they were rapidly warming up to a much more acceptable temperature. Currently, they approximated the Doctor's normal body temperature, but that was far too cold for Peter. Still it was progress, and Rose happily allowed the embrace.

She couldn't say how long they stood together, but eventually Peter was warm enough that Rose felt it was time to pull away. He let out a disgruntled sigh as she shifted away from him, pulling back so that she could look up at him.

'What's going on with you?' she asked kindly, reaching up to smooth his hair from his forehead, as she caught sight of his miserable expression.

Reluctantly, he relinquished his hold upon her and moved towards his favourite wing-backed chair, angling himself so that he didn't have to face her. Rose recognised the diversionary tactic, but she wasn't going to let him get away with avoiding her. Peter's reaction to Charley had been bizarre and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

'Don't do this,' she said quietly, coming around to crouch in front of Peter, so he was forced to meet her gaze. 'Don't shut me out.'

He met her gaze for a moment before glancing away, but not before Rose caught sight of the conflict within the brown irises. She knew then that it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. He was already so very close to letting her in. Reaching out, she found his hand and grasped it tightly, anchoring him in the moment.

'Peter, _please_. Let me help you.'

He was silent for several heartbeats before he returned his gaze to Rose's.

'You can't,' he said simply.

He sounded so hopeless that Rose tightened her grip on his limp fingers without thought, attempting vainly to lend him strength through the gesture.

'You don't know that,' she replied stubbornly.

His gaze held an unfamiliar weariness as he studied her quietly, and in that moment it was the Doctor looking back at her, the weight of all his years shining through from within.

'I do,' he said grimly. 'I really do. This is too impossible...you can't possibly help...'

'Impossible is my speciality,' Rose answered with absolute certainty, simply glad that he'd opened up to her. 'I promise you, Peter, I can help. You just need to trust me.'

He shifted uncertainly, and Rose sensed he was on the cusp of blurting it out. She just needed to let him know that she'd be there to catch him.

'You're not alone, Peter. You don't have to carry this burden by yourself. Let me do this for you.'

She squeezed his hand gently and he glanced down at their entwined fingers.

'Why?' he asked softly, his head still bowed.

Rose stared intently at him for a moment, debating her answer, before simply deciding to be honest.

'You know why.'

And deep down Peter did. It wasn't the most straight forward answer Rose could have given him, but at the moment, with the Doctor locked away, it was the best answer she could give him. Peter knew that what he had with Rose was something impossible, and it always had been. He'd loved her before he'd even met her. He didn't pretend to understand _how_ that was possible but somehow, instinctively, he knew that Rose Tyler was the most important person in his life. And she always would be. He realised then that it was time for him to let Rose in. It didn't matter that she was holding herself back from him for the moment, he had faith that someday she too would let him in. He just had to trust her. And he did – more than life itself.

'All this time you've known me, Rose, and you've never once asked me how my parents died,' Peter began impassively. 'Sometimes I wondered if I should tell you. Donna knows. She was there when it all happened. For so long now she's been the only person who _has_ known. But then I met you, Rose Tyler,' he said softly, and for the first time since he'd begun talking he raised his head to meet her gaze. He was momentarily startled by the blatant affection and trust radiating from the warm hazel eyes, and he wondered how it was possible for someone to care so very much about him without _knowing_. Any doubts about telling Rose vanished in the wake of her expression.

'I knew from that first moment I met you, Rose...' he faltered briefly before regaining his courage. '...I knew you were _important_ to me. I wanted you to know everything about me, but I could never bring myself to tell you. Donna was a child...just like I was...when it happened. I think that made it easier for her to believe...but then she grew up. Properly. And I never did. Nowadays I think she just goes along with it because she doesn't want to hurt my feelings. She doesn't really believe in vampires.'

Peter broke off and looked steadily at Rose, gauging her reaction. She was still crouched before him, her expression as open as before. There was no judgement. Seeing that, Peter took a deep breath and continued on.

'I couldn't tell you, because you're an adult,' he admitted shakily. 'No rational adult would be able to listen to my story without coming to the conclusion that I'm fucking mental.'

Rose stirred at his words. 'You're not mental,' she said gently, squeezing his hand. 'And for the record – I'm not nearly as rational as I appear. I once hitched a ride with a complete stranger. By the time I got back in touch with my mum, it'd been a year. She nearly slapped him into the next universe she was _that_ angry.'

Peter snorted, grateful for the light-heartedness Rose had injected into the conversation.

'He must have been some guy,' Peter commented amusedly.

Rose shot him a tongue-touched grin, her eyes alight with mischief.

'One of a kind,' she answered amusedly.

He couldn't help but grin broadly, amused despite himself. After a moment though he recalled the topic of conversation and sobered slightly. Letting out a sigh, he pulled Rose to her feet and guided her to one of the surrounding wing-backed chairs. Once she'd sat down he returned to his own chair, but he made a point of dragging it closer, so that she was still within reach.

'It happened when I was still living in Gallifrey,' Peter began hesitantly. 'I'd been at the Academy for a few years by then, and that was where I'd met Donna. We were in the same Chapter, in fact the same Class as well. The first time I met her, she accused me of abducting her when I accidentally got us both lost on our first day at the Academy. She spent most of the time yelling at me as I tried to find our way back. Thankfully one of the teachers overheard her screeching and rescued the pair of us. After that little misadventure I was quite certain I'd never be friends with Donna Noble. She proved me wrong though a few days later, when she saved my life. I was exploring one of the swimming pools at the Academy, and managed to fall in and knock myself out. If Donna hadn't seen me wandering off and decided to follow me – because she suspected I was up to no good – I would have drowned,' he admitted sheepishly.

Rose reached for Peter's hand and grasped it tightly, reminding herself that he was still here. She knew for certain that this particular memory had very strong roots in reality. In fact, she'd lived the alternative – where Donna hadn't been there to stop him – and Rose knew very well just how close the Doctor had come to drowning himself that day.

'She pulled me out,' Peter continued, offering Rose a bracing smile as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. 'Wasn't very happy when I woke up, I might add. Yelled at me for a good twenty minutes about how irresponsible I'd been, and how I would most definitely have died if she hadn't come along. She was right of course, but I wasn't going to admit that. Strangely enough, we ended up friends after that. Ever since then she's always been there to stop me when I go too far,' Peter reminisced fondly.

'I'm glad she is,' Rose murmured softly. 'You shouldn't be alone.'

'She was there for me when my parents died,' Peter blurted out, surprising himself with how quickly he'd returned to the guarded topic. Rose said nothing, but the gentle rub of her thumb as she traced circles on the back of his hand was comfort enough. Taking strength from the gesture Peter continued.

'I was ten, when he came,' he said tonelessly. 'It was almost nine o'clock when he knocked on our door. Mother had sent me to bed half an hour beforehand – much to my chagrin. I'd wanted to stay up and read with her, but Father had refused. He answered the door that night. I was still awake so I crept out onto the landing to see who it was, because no one had ever come over so late before. It was the next door neighbour. I heard him ask Father if he could come in. He wanted to borrow something I think...I can't remember what...but Father let him in.'

Peter took a shaky breath, gripping Rose's hand so tightly that he must have been hurting her. She said nothing though, matching his grip as best she could in a show of support.

'That's when it happened,' Peter croaked. 'He just leapt at Father and tore his throat out. Like an animal. I heard Mother scream, but I couldn't take my eyes off the monster. I just..._stood_ there and _watched_.'

'You were _ten,_ Peter,' Rose cut in gently, sensing his self-disgust as he recalled his ten-year old self's actions. 'You wouldn't have been able to stop him.'

'Mother didn't try to stop him either,' Peter continued quietly. 'She just raced up the stairs and grabbed me. _He_ was still busy with Father, so _he_ didn't notice. Mother pulled me into her room, opened their wardrobe and helped me get up onto the top shelf. She made me promise to stay hidden, and then she shut the door and left.

'I heard her go downstairs...' Peter admitted softly, his voice cracking as he relived the events of that horrific night. 'And then I heard her scream. I heard her screaming as he...as that monster...as he ripped her throat out. I still remember how suddenly she went silent...' Peter added absently, looking towards Rose. There were unshed tears in her eyes, but she was still there at least and that gave Peter the strength to finish what he'd started.

'All I could hear in that cupboard was the sound of my own breathing. It sounded so loud to me, and I tried to muffle it as best I could because I _knew_ something terrible had happened. I'd promised Mother that I wouldn't leave the hiding place, but all I could think about was the sight of Father's throat being ripped apart and Mother's screams. It wasn't too long after Mother had gone silent that I heard _him_ on the stairs,' he continued shakily.

'I remember trying to trick myself into believing that it was Mother – coming back to let me out – but I could tell the footsteps were too heavy. I could hear him moving about upstairs, opening doors, and rifling through all of our cupboards. He went through every single room before he came into my parent's room. I can't tell you what was going through my head...the waiting nearly drove me mad because I could tell he knew exactly where I was...my breathing alone was far too loud. He had to have known where I was. It was all a game to him...making me wait.

'It was almost a relief when he finally opened the wardrobe door and found me. I just wanted it to be over by then. I don't think I understood exactly what dying meant, but I think I assumed it was a bit like waking up from a bad dream and I wanted nothing more than for the nightmare to end. When he found me...he looked exactly like the creature from Hell he was...I was so terrified though that I couldn't even scream. I just stared at him and waited for it to be over.

'But he didn't kill me,' Peter breathed and for the first time Rose could detect anger in his tone. 'He just laughed, and told me that I'd need to find a better hiding place than a wardrobe if I didn't want to be killed next time.'

Rose looked like she wanted to say something but Peter kept talking, wanting to get the last of his story over with.

'I'm not sure how long I waited after I heard him leave before I left my hiding space, but by the time I climbed down it was almost morning. I found my parent's bodies in the hallway. He'd laid them out together for some sick reason, so that they almost looked like they were simply asleep...a final attempt to fuck with my mind undoubtedly...but I could tell they were dead. He'd used their blood to draw his insignia above their bodies. I took one look at that, and then I ran. I didn't really think about where I was going...I just _ran_...but eventually I turned up at Donna's house. I couldn't tell her parents what had happened but I told her...I told her about the vampire that murdered my parents,' he finished stoically.

Without really thinking about it, Rose stood and pulled Peter up into a hug. He didn't resist, and within seconds his arms were wrapped tightly around her. It was almost painful but she knew that she too was holding him almost as tightly. They stayed like that for a long time as Peter sought comfort from the steady beat of Rose's heart and the warmth of her solid presence within his arms.

'You're the first person I've told in twenty-four years,' Peter murmured quietly, his chest vibrating comfortingly against Rose, and reminding her that he was whole and healthy and perfectly safe in her arms.

After a moment she pulled back so that she could see his face, although she didn't let him out of her grip. Her hazel eyes searched his gaze, looking for something in particular.

'You had to believe that Charley was lying, didn't you? That's why you sent him away.'

It wasn't really a question, but Peter felt compelled to say something in response.

'I can't...not again...it _can't_ be real...'

He took a shaky breath, attempting to rein his emotions in.

'My life was _destroyed_ by that vampire, Rose,' he murmured earnestly. 'I can't face that again...I _can't_...not now...it's been twenty four years..._please_, I can't!'

'I know,' Rose comforted, rubbing his back. 'Calm down now...that's right, take a deep breath...can't have you forgetting how to breathe on me now, can I? Few more deep breaths...that's right...slow and steady...better?'

Peter nodded mutely.

'Good,' Rose continued calmly. 'Now, when you're ready, I want you to get up and head downstairs for the show. I don't want you to worry about Charley. I'll sort him out. Whatever reason he had to come and see you, I promise I'll get to the bottom of it.'

Briefly, Peter considered arguing against the idea. He really didn't want to deal with the possibility that Charley was telling the truth, but at the same time he didn't want to burden Rose. Nor did he want to risk her stumbling across a vampire. He was about to protest when he realised just what it was Rose was offering him: the chance to let something slide. She was willing to take on his problems, and that astounded him. Perhaps it was selfish, but just this once he wanted to let go.

And so he did – secure in the knowledge that Rose would _always_ be there to catch him when he fell.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **The song mentioned is "Letting Go" by Lupe Fiasco ft. Sarah Green (I suggest looking it up on YouTube). It's used in _Fright Night _in a similar scene. Strangely enough, "Letting Go" was one of the titles I'd drafted early on, and when I realised it corresponded to this song (and in that particular scene in the movie), I knew I'd found my title. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * *

_Chapter 11_

Rose cut the peanut butter sandwich into triangles, all the while watching Peter out of the corner of her eye. The show had finished twenty minutes ago, and uncharacteristically he'd left the stage immediately to seek refuge in his penthouse. He hadn't moved or acknowledged Rose either since she'd let herself in ten minutes ago. Instead he'd remained slouched in his chair, one bare foot fidgeting restlessly on the couch he'd commissioned as a foot rest, as he sipped idly from his iced drink. Rose hadn't had the heart to curb his drinking tonight; not after the first show since Francesca's murder. She was loathe to leave him to his own devices though so she'd set about making him a bland sandwich, in the hopes that having him eat something would lessen the effect of the alcohol he was consuming. Plus the task of preparing a meal for him meant she didn't have to wonder what Martha and Donna were up to.

The pair had spoken with Charley that afternoon and afterwards had decided that it would be prudent to run a reconnaissance mission after Peter's show. Rose had been forbidden from joining them on the grounds that someone needed to stay with Peter. Not only were they worried about the possibility that something was after the Doctor, but all of them were worried about Peter's state of mind. It was abundantly clear that Charley's visit, so soon after Francesca's death, had left him vulnerable, and all of them knew that Rose was the person he needed most at the moment. Rose understood that of course, but she couldn't honestly say she was entirely happy to let Martha and Donna go off alone to stake out Jerry's house. Although she knew they were both highly capable, it was a facet of her nature that she hated standing by whilst other's risked their lives in her place. And if Charley's stories were anything to go by, Jerry was not to be underestimated.

Peter shifted agitatedly, abruptly breaking Rose out of her thoughts. He fiddled with the universal remote and seconds later the song he'd been listening to was playing through the in-house speaker system. He'd been listening to it on repeat since Rose had come upstairs, but now it seemed he also wanted to drown out his thoughts if the change in volume was anything to go by.

_Things are gettin' out of control;_

_Feels like I'm runnin' out of soul._

_You are getting heavy to hold;_

_Think I'll be letting you go._

Rose had never heard the song before – it had been released long after she'd left this universe – but she could understand the appeal the song must have for Peter. The lyrics seemed to tell his story. Picking up the plate with Peter's sandwich, she crossed the room to join him. He didn't look up as she approached but as she got closer Rose caught sight of his expression, and as she did she felt her heart break. Peter looked broken. He was staring out at the city lights but his expression was tumultuous. Grief hung over him heavily, tinged with bitterness and fear, and accompanied by a terrible loneliness and uncertainty. Careful not to startle him, Rose crouched beside him and tentatively reached out for his hand. When he didn't resist, she entwined their fingers, giving them a comforting squeeze.

'Hey,' she murmured quietly.

It took him a moment but eventually he came back to her, his eyes filling with recognition as he focussed on her. Glancing down at their hands he shifted his own slightly so that his thumb was free enough to trace calming shapes onto the back of her hand.

'_Rose Tyler_,' he replied tenderly, his tone thick with unspoken feelings.

She couldn't help but smile. He was so very much like the Doctor. Without releasing her hand or breaking eye contact, Peter fumbled in the pocket of his gown for the universal remote and blindly lowered the volume. The music could still be heard, but now they'd be able to talk without shouting.

'You alright?' Rose asked gently, offering to listen if that was what Peter wanted.

He let out a deep sigh, before forcing a grin that didn't meet his eyes by a long shot.

'I'm always alright.'

Rose chewed on her lip but she held her tongue. She'd been around the Doctor long enough to know when to push for a proper answer and when to let it go, and tonight wasn't a night to push. With a sad smile she let the evasive answer pass unchecked.

'Here,' she said instead, passing him the plate of peanut butter triangles. 'Don't drink on an empty stomach.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'If you're not hungry, you're not thirsty either,' Rose warned, looking pointedly at his half full glass.

Rolling his eyes, Peter accepted the plate. That wasn't enough to satisfy Rose though, and after ignoring her raised eyebrow for half a minute he finally gave in and took a small bite out of one of the triangles.

'I'm really not hungry,' he sulked, not bothering to chew with his mouth shut. Rose almost might have believed him too, if he hadn't wolfed down the remainder of the triangle the second she'd moved to sit in her own chair.

'The new segment worked well tonight,' she said quietly searching around for a topic to break the silence.

Peter nodded noncommittally but refrained from commenting. It seemed his attention had momentarily been diverted to the silk gown he was wearing. He was entirely lost in thought as he unconsciously fiddled with the smooth satin sash, twisting it around his fingers as he stared into space. Thankfully he was wearing boxer shorts and the ratty t-shirt he slept in underneath the skimpy gown tonight. He didn't normally parade around in his gown anymore, but Rose could understand why he'd sought the comfort of that particular item of clothing tonight. As far as she was aware the gown had been a gift from Francesca early on in their relationship; something she'd bought for him after earning her first pay check. It was the sort of sentimental display that the public might be surprised to witness from Peter Vincent, but Rose knew him better than that and wasn't surprised in the least.

'Where'd Donna and Martha run off to this evening?' Peter asked suddenly, tearing his gaze away from his gown to fix Rose with a probing stare.

'Oh,' Rose blurted, surprised he'd noticed their hasty retreat post-show. 'They wanted to explore a bit more of the town,' she invented wildly.

It was a white lie, but telling Peter that Donna and Martha were off staking out Jerry's house was hardly going to ease his anxiety.

'Right,' he replied blandly, turning away from Rose in favour of staring once more out at the city lights. As she watched him Peter scrubbed a hand down his face, pulling uselessly at his jaw. Rose recognised the gesture and realised he wanted to be alone. He looked exhausted so she suspected he'd succumb to sleep soon enough. Standing up she grabbed his empty plate and took it to the sink to wash up. He didn't seem to notice her taking the plate which confirmed her suspicions that he was just about ready to drop. As she moved back over to him Rose reached out to squeeze his shoulder planning to gently alert him to her return, but instead her gesture simply resulted in unintentionally startling him.

'Sorry, it's just me,' she breathed apologetically, feeling terrible for shocking him. 'I'm going to head back downstairs and finish some work off now, but you can call me if you need anything, alright?'

He nodded distractedly and Rose wondered just how much he'd taken in. Leaning forward she pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head before smoothing the fringe away slightly.

'Don't sit here all night, okay?'

He must have registered the worry in her voice because he made a conscious effort to meet her gaze.

'I won't.'

She smiled fondly at the half promise, knowing full well that he'd quite likely fall asleep where he was. Giving his shoulder one final comforting squeeze she left him alone.

o0o

Peter remained where he was for a few moments longer after Rose had departed before realising he'd run out of ice chips to chew on. He'd seen her glance worriedly towards his glass when she'd come in, but he hadn't bothered to correct her assumption that he'd been drinking Midori. He hadn't seen the point in getting drunk tonight when he'd known for certain that the Midori wouldn't be powerful enough to calm his tumultuous thoughts. So he'd settled for chewing ice and drowning out his thoughts with music. The combination did provide some relief thankfully, but for it to work he'd need to get up and retrieve some more ice from his countertop. Letting out a frustrated sigh he pushed himself out of his chair and crossed to the countertop.

Eyeing the ice bucket distastefully, for remaining stubbornly at the countertop, Peter roughly dropped several handfuls of ice chips into his glass. As he did so, his gaze unwillingly came to rest upon the stack of printouts the boy had left behind. He'd forgotten they were still on the countertop. Against his better judgement he reached forward to pick them up, barely noticing that he'd released his final fistful of ice onto the countertop rather than into his glass. He thumbed through the images and felt his blood freeze as he pulled out an enlarged image from the middle of the stack.

Peter stared at it for a good two minutes, barely able to believe that he recognised the image. It was an exact replica of the insignia he'd found drawn over his parent's body. Seeing it now on paper brought back the memories of that horrific night. With bizarre calmness Peter took the few steps that would place him directly in front of his wall safe. He hadn't opened the device since he'd arrived at Hard Rock, and even now he didn't really need to open it. Peter knew without doubt that the image he'd sketched as a child would match perfectly with Charley Brewster's photograph. Keying in the code, he hastily unlocked the safe and rifled through the small bundle of papers and photographs he'd salvaged from his childhood. Pulling out the familiar yellowed paper he unfolded the image completely. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at it immediately though, glancing first at Charley's colour photo before raising his gaze to his own sketch. The graphite etching was remarkably complete given it had been drawn from memory by a traumatised ten year old. There was no doubt that the images were identical.

Peter had known they would be, but it was still a shock to realise that not even the passage of twenty-four years had kept him safe from that symbol. He'd considered the possibility that Charley really _had_ run into a vampire but it had never occurred to Peter that "Jerry" was synonymous with the murdering beast that had destroyed his own childhood. The knowledge that his parent's murderer was nearby terrified Peter. Surprisingly though, he hadn't yet lost the capacity to think clearly. Normally, any hint of vampire or supernatural activity would have had Peter hurtling towards the closest airport without delay, but not this time. There was no denying that the threat was much more real now than it had ever been since his parent's death, but neither could Peter simply afford to flee without thought. His life had never been as _right_ as it currently was and although leaving was high on his priority list, there were other variables he needed to factor in: namely, Rose.

Leaving her behind was out of the question. The same applied to Donna and Martha. He wasn't going to take a fucking chance where this bastard vampire was concerned and if that meant uprooting the three girls' lives, then Peter would do that. He knew without a doubt that Rose would believe him about "Jerry" but he'd have to count on her friendship with Martha and Donna to convince the other two to come with them. He wasn't going to leave them behind.

Briefly he considered calling Rose back upstairs immediately, but he decided against waking her. He could make arrangements and pack overnight, and let her know in the morning. At most it would take a few hours longer than his usual get away time but Peter didn't think it would make too much difference. After all, "Jerry" clearly didn't know he was here in Las Vegas.

There was one other thing Peter could do though. It wasn't something he'd ever have considered before but somehow he found himself unwilling to leave without giving the boy a fighting chance. Charley Brewster needed to know what he was up against. Before he could second guess himself, Peter pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialled the number the boy had scrawled onto the back of the photos. Charley picked up after two rings and Peter delivered his message.

'I can help you. My place in one hour.'

o0o

'Donna what did you say the house number was?' Martha asked strangely, her voice tight.

'Fourteen hundred and fourteen,' she replied distractedly, her attention captured entirely by the small tablet device Martha had given her to monitor as they drove. It was apparently some kind of scanner that was capable of detecting energy signatures that originated from off-world. As Martha was driving, Donna had been tasked with keeping track of the read out. The activity on the scanner had been steadily increasing the closer they got to Charley's street which Donna supposed meant they were on the right track. She was about to let Martha know that the activity being logged had doubled since they'd turned onto this particular street when she finally registered the change in Martha's voice. Looking up, she realised exactly why Martha had sounded so on edge.

'Oh my...' Donna breathed.

The flashing lights of emergency vehicles lit up the street; a cacophony of colours that reminded Donna of strobe lighting. But the lighting from the emergency vehicles paled in comparison to the blaze from the fire that was currently ripping through number fourteen hundred and twelve. Martha pulled the big, blacked-out SUV they'd rented up onto the curb, two houses down from where the firemen were battling to contain the inferno. The engine idled freely as the two women stared out of the windscreen at the ordered chaos unfolding before them.

Donna's attention was diverted almost immediately to the tablet on her lap though when it vibrated angrily against her thigh. Looking down at the screen she struggled to make sense of the information that was being presented to her before giving up and getting Martha's attention.

'The tablet just went mental,' she advised frankly, passing it across to Martha.

It seemed Martha understood the gibberish on the screen perfectly because her eyes were alight with interest as she took the device from Donna before she rapidly began flicking through various programs. Suddenly she let out an excited gasp, and before Donna could register the movement Martha was out of the car and hurrying up the road to number 1414, tablet firmly in hand. Donna let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing the keys out of the ignition and following.

'You might want to keep track of these,' she offered sarcastically as she finally caught up with Martha, dangling the keys in front of her.

Martha cringed. 'Sorry!' she replied, sounding suitably apologetic. 'Didn't mean to leave you in the car, but you won't believe what the scanner just found.'

Donna glanced towards the tablet but once again found it impossible to interpret the data that was scrawling across the screen. Martha must have seen her blank look because she stepped closer, holding the tablet in front of them both so that she could guide Donna through what she was seeing.

'See that spike there?' Martha began, pointing at some huge blue and green mess. If she squinted and turned her head to the right slightly Donna might just have called it a "spike", but otherwise it looked like a rather overzealous blob to her. She nodded anyway though, prompting Martha to continue her explanation.

'That spike tells me that house number fourteen hundred and fourteen is not an ordinary house,' she continued excitedly. 'We only ever see a spike like that if there's a short-range teleport within range. If I stand right here the signal is almost off the charts, which means it has to be coming from directly in front of us. Whoever Jerry is, he certainly isn't a local. Somewhere in that house, there's a teleport that _really_ doesn't belong here,' Martha concluded.

'So the house is just a front?'

Martha beamed. 'Funny you should say that,' she continued. 'The scanner has analysed the plot of land while we've been standing here and this is what it's come up with.'

Tilting the tablet, Martha clicked on an app that opened up a three-dimensional image of house number 1414. It was a bit like a blueprint drawing but Donna could tell immediately where the discrepancy was.

'That can't be a basement,' she said incredulously, unable to find a suitable reason for why more than half of the house appeared to be below ground level.

'Basement? Cellar? Dungeon? Crypt?' Martha rattled off. 'Who knows? It's certainly not normal though.'

'What do you think he has down there?' Donna wondered.

'I'm not sure I want to know,' Martha murmured soberly. 'Whatever he is, this "Jerry" is dangerous. He's likely responsible for Francesca's murder and Charley mentioned several of his friends were missing...'

Donna nodded grimly. There was no doubt in her mind that this "vampire" was not to be underestimated. A thought suddenly occurred to her. 'It's not his spaceship or something?'

Martha looked thoughtful for a moment before checking something on her tablet.

'No, it's not,' she replied distractedly. She glanced once more at the tablet before looking north. 'If I had to take a guess, I'd say it's somewhere to our north, but no further than a 100miles away.'

'How do you know that!?'

Martha chuckled before replying. 'The scanner calculates the maximum range of the teleport to be at close to 100miles. It's also picked up on faint readings, similar to what we're getting here, from somewhere north of this house. I reckon the spaceship is cloaked and parked in the desert over there,' she concluded, pointing north once again.

Donna didn't like the sound of that. So far they'd been expecting to deal with one vampire – query alien – but the realisation that he'd come by spaceship was ominous.

'What if there's more than one of _them_?' she asked breathlessly.

Martha seemed to sense Donna's unease because she reached forward to give her arm a comforting squeeze.

'As of right now everything seems to point to _just_ "Jerry" being here,' Martha replied honestly. 'I can't say for sure that there aren't more on board his ship but there's no point speculating at present. We simply don't know enough about the situation. But, if it ever gets out of hand,' she continued earnestly, 'I've got the Brigadier on speed dial.'

Donna smiled, recalling Martha's many references to her commanding officer. The Doctor had apparently spent a few years – and a number of faces – with the semi-retired UNIT officer. From the stories Martha had told them, Donna could tell she had the utmost respect for the older man. And the faith Martha had in the man was more than enough for Donna.

'Alright?' Martha asked seriously, relaxing only once Donna nodded reassuringly. 'Okay, I'm going to get closer to 1414 and run some more scans. While I'm doing that did you want to try and find out where Charley's family has gone? Once we know where they are we can call Rose and let her know what's happened.'

'Sounds like a plan,' Donna agreed easily and with a steely determination set her eye on the burliest looking cop – who was more than a bit alright looking – and decided it was time to engage "stealth mode". Donna Noble was going undercover.

o0o

Rose had come to the resolute conclusion that she was not cut out to be a PA. She'd left Peter alone almost an hour ago, and in the time since she'd returned to Donna's apartment was certain that she'd actually created more work for herself than what she'd initially started with. Somehow the small mound of paperwork that required sorting had doubled in size rather than diminishing as she'd expected. In fact Rose had made such a mess of it that she was seriously considering looking online for someone to fill Francesca's role; preferably someone who could start tomorrow morning. She suspected a large part of her inefficiency though was partly due to her inability to focus on the task at hand. No matter how hard she tried to stay on task, her thoughts inevitably drifted to Peter.

It was ridiculous, but Rose couldn't help but worry about him. She'd left him alone upstairs because she'd recognised his need for space and had hoped that he'd get some sleep, but it still felt wrong for some reason. For some unknown reason she'd been feeling on edge since she'd come back downstairs. The hairs on the back of her neck had been tingling for awhile now, as though there was too much static electricity in the air. If there was one thing travelling with the Doctor had taught her, it was to not underestimate her instincts. And this was one scenario where she really didn't want to be caught out. She'd just decided to head back upstairs and check on Peter when her mobile rang. Crossing back over to the countertop where she'd left the phone, Rose checked the caller ID before picking up.

'Martha?' she answered seriously, unable to hide all of her anxiety. The plan had been for Martha and Donna to conduct a standard survey of Jerry's house and then return to the hotel promptly. Which meant the only reason for a call now would be if something unusual had occurred.

'_We've got a bit of a situation here_.'

'Are you safe?' Rose asked immediately.

'_We're fine. Charley's house has been torched though._'

'Is he okay?'

'_According to the police, his mother was taken to hospital with a head injury. Charley and his girlfriend are both fine though._'

'Okay,' Rose breathed, relieved to hear the teenager was alright. 'Any idea what happened?'

'_It seems the fire was deliberately started. The Chief talked us through it, and it sounds as though the gas line was exposed from their backyard and the fire started that way. We got close enough to see the damage, and it looks as though something ripped it up out of the ground. Of course the authorities are a bit miffed as to how the pipe line was exposed..._'

Rose frowned, mulling over Martha's explanation. Clearly Jerry's strength was far greater than a human's. She wondered what other supernatural abilities the alien had. Martha clearly had more to say though because she continued on without waiting for a reply.

'_That's not all, Rose. The scanner picked up a short-range teleport in the house. I think it links to his ship_.'

'What's the range of the teleport?'

'_100miles give or take. I ran a scan once we realised there was a ship in the equation and it looks like it _is_ parked somewhere north of this location_.'

'That would be desert wouldn't it?' Rose mused. 'Good place to hide a ship, I suppose.'

'_That's what I thought._'

'What do you want to do?' Rose asked after a brief bout of silence. In the background she could hear the sound of firemen and police attempting to clear civilians from the scene. 'Do you want to call in UNIT?'

Martha was silent for a moment.

'_Donna and I talked it over, and I don't think we need to involve them. Not yet at least. It's all a bit political with the American branch at the moment. I don't really want to get them involved with the Doctor so close._'

'Alright,' Rose agreed. 'That's your call to make, and I trust your judgement. What's your plan?'

'_Donna and I are going to head to the hospital. Check on Charley and see if he can shed any light on why Jerry attacked them. After that we'll probably head out to the desert and see if we can get a more accurate location on the ship. Is that okay?_'

'That sounds like a good idea.'

'_How's Peter?_'

Rose hesitated. 'He's fine...I think. Bit more subdued than normal...but what can you expect? I'd be more concerned if he was carrying on as if nothing had happened.'

'_Has he said anything about Charley?_'

'Not as such,' Rose began slowly. 'He's told me about his parents though. He thinks they were murdered by a vampire when he was ten. That's why he panicked when Charley turned up. He couldn't deal with the idea that there might be another vampire in town.'

She heard Martha let out a surprised breath.

'_I guess that explains why he was so unwilling to talk about his past. Probably thought we'd think he was mad if he started talking about vampires._'

'Yeah,' Rose chuckled slightly despite herself. 'I think that's exactly what he thought.'

'_Is he alright now?_'

'He seemed tired so I left him alone upstairs about an hour ago.'

There was a brief pause.

'_Rose, what do we do if we can't find the watch?_'

Rose sighed. It was a valid question and one that had been playing on her own mind for some time now. Although events were currently in flux, she had to have faith that it was all going to work out for the best. From her perspective the Doctor, Martha, and Donna, had all lived through this without incident. There was only so much comfort she could get from that knowledge though when she was the one living the events. As each day passed and they failed to locate the watch it was hard to remain hopeful.

'We deal with Jerry, Martha,' she finally answered. 'That's our priority for now. We sort that, and then we start to worry about the fob watch. I wish –'

She broke off suddenly as she heard the distinctive ping of the lift in the outside corridor. Frowning, she hurried to the door and was just in time to see the doors shutting on the private lift that enabled access to Peter's penthouse. It was a security measure that limited public access to the more upmarket suites in the hotel, whilst keeping access to the private penthouses restricted. Rose had always found it rather amusing that Peter had to take the same lift as them to get to his private lift, but right now she was immensely glad that his lift was right outside Donna's apartment.

'_Rose!?_'

'Sorry,' she answered distractedly, finally remembering that Martha was still on the phone. 'Someone's just gone upstairs to Peter's room. It's probably just room service but I want to make sure.'

There was a beat of silence as Martha processed the new information.

'_Alright, but be careful. Call us if there's a problem._'

'Will do,' Rose replied hastily. 'I'll see you when you get back!'

She ended the call and shoved the mobile into her pocket alongside her key card. Without further ado she left the apartment and made her way upstairs.

o0o

Peter barely needed to think about his movements as he poured the Midori into his glass. He'd filled enough glasses in his time that he was confident he wouldn't overfill this one. Although he'd avoided the noxious green piss earlier in the evening, the arrival of Charley and his girlfriend had smashed his resolve to remain sober. Their presence made everything real once again, and to deal with that he _needed_ to be pissed.

'I'll tell you what I know but that's it,' he said firmly, his speech somewhat slurred as he addressed the couple he knew were standing behind him. He was relieved to note that his voice hadn't wavered despite the very real sense of fear that was threatening to overwhelm him. It was so strong in fact, that he picked up the Midori bottle and fumbled it into the pocket of his gown as he turned to face the pair.

'Alright?' he continued as he moved over to his wing-backed chair. 'Don't expect me to join your little Scooby gang. Sit down,' he added as he tried to recall why he'd thought this was a good idea.

He'd only just sat down himself, when Rose burst into the room. She took in the scene before her with a rapidity that surprised Peter. Her eyes flickered with practiced ease between the occupants of the room, before coming to rest deliberately on him. He shifted uneasily beneath the intense gaze.

'What are you doing here, Charley?' Rose asked calmly, never once removing her gaze from Peter.

'Err, Mr Vincent called me,' the boy stuttered. 'He said he could help us.'

'I thought you'd trusted me to handle this, Peter,' Rose said calmly, although Peter could hear the disappointment in her voice and it cut him to the core. He hadn't meant for her to find out about this.

'I...it's...you...' he spluttered, flailing beneath Rose's steadfast gaze as he attempted to come up with _something_ that would fix the situation.

'What aren't you telling me?'

It was a quiet and determined plea, and it very nearly caused Peter to break. But he wouldn't compromise. Not on this. He wasn't going to risk Rose's life because he'd suddenly found himself compelled to enact one miserable good deed before he fled Las Vegas.

'Nothing,' he answered tightly.

The answer had come too quickly and his tone was too suspicious. He could tell Rose hadn't been fooled in the slightest. Her eyes narrowed perceptively and he could see the hurt behind the hazel irises. It didn't sit comfortably with him – the knowledge that he was causing her pain – but he'd bear that cross any day if it meant keeping her safe.

'You're lying,' she said simply, daring Peter to contradict her.

It wasn't the accusation that bothered him, but the weary resignation in her tone. As if she'd expected such an answer from him. And that devastated him.

'I'm not,' he insisted, but even he could hear the lie.

'Trust goes two ways, Peter.'

Peter cringed but he refused to let her guilt him further. He was doing what was _right_ for _her_. Unfortunately, he was more than a little pissed, which meant his mouth was temporarily disconnected from his brain, allowing him to speak without thought.

'This isn't about trust, Rose,' he snapped. 'It's about keeping _you_ safe. _That's_ what I'm doing. _That's_ what I'm fucking hiding. Because after I've made sure these _moronic_ school children don't get themselves killed, I'm going to get us all the fuck out of Vegas before the fucking vampire decides to fucking kills us.'

He was breathing heavily by the time he finished and his heart was beating an erratic tattoo against his sternum. It almost felt as if it was attempting to compensate for a missing right heart, and the sensation did nothing to ease the sudden wave of nausea that had overcome him. He hadn't meant to voice those thoughts. Risking a glance at Rose he knew immediately, even through the residual haze of his anger and fear, that he had crossed a line with her. She looked as though she'd been hit in the stomach, and Peter briefly wondered if it was possible for words to inflict physical damage. What worried him most though was that although his tirade of stupid mindless words had _hurt_ Rose, they hadn't _surprised_ her – and that terrified him. Because if Peter didn't know better, he just might have believed that this wasn't the first time he'd broken Rose Tyler's trust.

'_Fuck!_' he cursed under his breath, pulling distractedly at his hair. 'I didn't mean that, Rose,' he told her urgently, his tone entirely earnest as he backtracked rapidly. 'I don't –'

Before he could complete his apology though the shrill ring of his penthouse's DECT phone pierced the tension filled room. Fumbling for the device, as he muttered a fluid string of curses under his breath, he pulled it out of his pocket and accepted the call.

'What?' he demanded. The call could not have come at a worse time, he thought bitterly.

'_Mr Vincent?_'

'Who the _fuck_ else would it be?'

'_You have a delivery_.'

'Well fucking send him up,' he answered shortly, uninterested in whatever item had arrived from eBay.

'_Sir, are you –'_

Peter hung up before the concierge could finish. He really wasn't in the mood for a discussion. His attention returned to Rose once again, and the sight of her attempting to hold herself together brought him back to his senses. Automatically he closed the distance between them so that he was standing just in front of her, although he was careful not to intrude upon her personal space. She allowed him to approach, but eyed him warily. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Charley and his girlfriend attempting to remain as inconspicuous as possible. In that moment he wished more than ever he could take back what he'd said. Not only were his words unforgiveable, but he'd shouted at Rose in public.

'I didn't mean that, Rose,' he murmured as quietly and sincerely as he could, his tone thick with honesty and regret. 'I don't know why I said any of that...' he trailed off helplessly.

Rose was silent, and Peter counted each agonising heartbeat as he waited for her to say something. It was torture as he watched her appraise him, her gaze boring into him mercilessly. In the end only thirty beats had passed before she spoke but for Peter, it felt like thirty lifetimes.

'It's _always_ important, Peter,' she whispered emphatically. 'You can't have a relationship without trust.'

The words were blunt but her eyes held forgiveness, for which Peter was eternally grateful.

'I know,' he answered simply. 'I just want to keep you safe.'

And really, that _was_ all he wanted. He may have temporarily disengaged his brain – and boy was he finding it hard to stand upright at present – but it didn't change how he felt about Rose. The honesty of his answer must have been obvious because Rose offered him a small smile. Despite the colossal mistake he'd just made Peter couldn't help but take hope from the gesture. Rose had used the term "relationship", and for Peter that meant _everything_. It was completely inappropriate – given he was undoubtedly on very thin ice with Rose at present – but he wasn't able to contain his own answering grin. His unbridled hope was obvious, but thankfully Rose didn't seem to begrudge him his temporary ecstasy. In fact, if the slight crinkle of laughter lines around her warm hazel eyes was anything to go by, she seemed to be enjoying Peter's reaction to her use of the word "relationship". However, the moment was short lived.

'Oh _fuck_!' Charley exclaimed abruptly, drawing everyone's attention as he leapt up from his seat. He looked horrified as he fixed his gaze on Peter. 'Please tell me you get deliveries this late at night!?'

The boy was clearly scared because his voice broke as he spoke, the words coming out in a high pitched strangled tone. The relevance of the question however, escaped Peter and he stared stupidly at the boy for several precious seconds.

'I don't know...' he finally answered slowly. He'd had far too much to drink in far too short a period of time, and everything was a bit fuzzy. Dimly though, Peter was aware that Charley's question was important. He just couldn't remember why.

'Oh _shit_,' Charley began and now there was real panic in the boy's tone. 'No, no, _no_,' he almost shouted. 'You said that guy could come in! That's an –'

'It's an _invitation_, airhead.'

_Fuck_.

The single expletive filled Peter's mind as he registered the intruder.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

It seemed to be the only thought Peter's blank mind was capable of producing as it slowly dawned on him that he'd just invited a vampire into his home.

'Hey, Mr Vincent? Package for you,' the vampire called sarcastically, hurling a medium sized parcel straight at Peter. It was thrown far too quickly for him to dodge – even if he had been sober – and he let out a grunt as it hit him in the solar plexus.

'_Fuuuuck_,' he groaned, only just managing to stay on his feet as he doubled over.

Rose was beside him instantly, pulling him back to his feet and pushing him behind her as she turned to face the intruder. Before she could do anything though, a mobile rang.

'Oh, one second guys, business call,' the vampire joked, fishing the ringing mobile out of his pocket. 'Hello?' he answered, lifting the phone to his ear. 'Oh, yeah. I'm looking at him right now,' he continued, his dead black-eyed gaze coming to rest solely upon Peter. 'I think he's dying to meet you. Come on up.'

The vampire terminated the call.

'Don't you try anything, blondie,' he hissed, glaring directly at Rose. 'Jerry wants _him_ alive, but that doesn't include you.'

Peter felt Rose tense, but wisely she stayed silent. Charley on the other hand seemed to have no compunction to stay silent.

'Look, Ed,' he began desperately. 'If you have a problem, just keep it with me okay?'

'Oh ho ho,' the vampire – Ed – snarled, 'have I got a problem? You let him get to me, man. You let him turn me into this.'

Peter realised then that the vampire's attention had been captured entirely by Charley. For some bizarre reason, this fact registered with him despite the disproportionately high ratio of ethanol to blood that was currently circulating in his bloodstream. It was as though some part of Peter's consciousness had leapt into action the moment it realised Rose's life was being threatened. This tiny little voice in the back of his head that was capable of calmly assessing the situation and constructing a solution that would get them out alive.

Time seemed to slow temporarily, as though this small part of Peter had mastery over this vast dimension, and Peter felt his consciousness slip away slightly as the part of him that had been hiding in the shadows of his dreams briefly flared to life. It was enough that for a moment, Peter thought himself the Doctor. And with the sudden security of more than 900 years of existence and experience to back him up, Peter found his courage.

He glanced behind him to where he knew there was a crucifix stored in a small glass cabinet. It was five steps away at most. He could end this. Ed had already threatened Rose once, and there was no way Peter would risk her being noticed again. The adrenaline pumping through his veins kicked him into action and before he could even think about it he found himself standing in front of the smashed cabinet, the crucifix clutched tightly in his hand. He turned to face the demon.

'Stay away, demon!' he cried, brandishing the crucifix before him, offering him one chance to walk away.

'Ohhh is that a little itsy bitsy stakey for me?' Ed taunted, apparently completely unfazed by Peter's approach.

'It's a crucifix, you moron. It's lethal to you.'

'Oh yeah,' the vampire snarled amusedly. 'Old school. Nice. You'd have to get pretty close to use that thing now...'

The scene was too familiar.

Images of his father's throat being ripped out by a similar creature assaulted Peter. It was like he was ten again. He could feel his heart beating just as rapidly, feel the slight splatter of droplets as his father's arterial blood spurted from the wound, and he could hear the sick sound the creature had made as teeth had ripped through flesh. He shook his head, attempting to dislodge the memories and escape the flashbacks that were invading his reality.

Fear flooded Peter's system, washing away his courage before it had a chance to take root. That small part of Peter's consciousness that urged him to fight was overrun by the torrent of catecholamines, too substantial and too human to overcome the flight response. The Doctor was forced back into the recesses of Peter's mind, too incorporeal to withstand such an integral assault to Peter Vincent's psyche. All the might of the Time Lord was sealed away, and Peter was left alone.

He gasped as time began to pass normally again, the sudden return to linear time throwing him off balance. His ears were ringing loudly, and he blinked rapidly as his vision blurred alarmingly. The longer he stared at Ed the more uncertain his reality became. The hand that reached out to pull him back was Rose's...or perhaps it was Mother's? He wasn't sure anymore.

The vampire was smirking now as he slowly took a step forward, reaching out to procure the crucifix from Peter. All rational thought abandoned him as the combination of an incredibly high blood alcohol concentration, and a paralytic fear of vampires asserted dominance. The flashback was too real and Peter shut down.

He was ten years old again, and he couldn't cope.

Somehow he remembered which button he needed to press to unlock his panic room, and then he was _running_ – because mother had told him to _hide_, and he'd _promised_.

That was the only thought Peter had, and as he sealed himself inside the panic room it didn't even occur to him that Rose was still outside. In fact, he was so far gone that he barely even registered the spurt of blood as Ed's arm was severed by the 8 inch thick steel door. Alone, covered in blood, and scared beyond shitless, Peter backed up to the far side of the room – putting as much distance as he could between the severed limb and himself.

He sank to the ground, pulling his legs up as tightly as he could, so as to make himself as small as possible. He ground the palms of his hand into his eyes in a vain attempt to erase the images that were playing round and round in his mind, but no matter how hard he pressed the darkness provided no relief. His breaths were still coming in great heaving gasps and it was all he could do not to burst into tears. But he'd promised mother. He'd _promised_ her he'd stay hidden, and he wasn't going to break that promise.

Fumbling blindly for his pocket, Peter pulled out the mostly full Midori bottle – his second for the evening – and lifted it to his lips without hesitation, seeking the only comfort he could find. He grasped at the bottle as though it were a lifeline; regressing to the baser needs of childhood and finding consolation through oral stimulation. The effect left him drowsy and it would be some time before he came back to himself. And until then, the name _Rose Tyler_ meant absolutely nothing to Peter Vincent.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. This chapter was heading towards being twice its current length before I realised it was getting unmanageable. So I've finally decided to split it and post up chapter 12 now. Chapter 13 will require a bit of editing now, as I reassess the chapter length! Thank you to everyone who is following along. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story. Not too much longer left now :)

* * *

_Chapter 12_

Rose breathed deeply, forcing herself to slow down and re-evaluate the situation with all the clarity and experience of a seasoned Torchwood operative. She'd come upstairs half expecting an intruder, but instead had found Peter hosting Charley and his girlfriend – Amy, if she remembered correctly. Her mistake had been letting her guard down with Peter, and the moment the "vampire" – Ed – had shown up, she'd known there was going to be trouble.

Her priority had been to protect Peter, and Rose had immediately stepped in front of him once it had become clear that Ed was a serious threat to Peter's life. As she'd assessed the situation, Rose had initially discounted Peter from the equation, assuming the arrival of a "vampire" would put him well and truly out of commission. She honestly hadn't expected him to confront Ed which had resulted in a few, very tense minutes, where she'd felt like she'd been completely out of control of the situation. In such an emotional state Peter was completely unpredictable. Very quickly, Rose had realised he'd become a dangerous and volatile variable in her already poorly controlled equation.

Thankfully, Peter's fear had taken him safely out of the equation moments later. Rose had noticed the instant he'd become too overwhelmed to function. She'd watched him shut down before her very eyes, and no matter how tightly she'd gripped his arm or how loudly she'd called his name he hadn't responded to her. She hadn't known about the panic room but she'd caught on quickly enough, which was why she'd let him run without chasing after him. He was much safer in the panic room. It meant she could focus entirely on finding out what Jerry and Ed wanted from him, and resolving the situation without having to keep track of Peter as well. Besides, from what she'd seen, she very much doubted he'd be anywhere near the right frame of mind to think clearly for quite some time – he'd been completely lost to his terror.

So with Peter safely ensconced behind 8 inches of thick steel, that left Rose trapped in his penthouse with two civilians and an openly hostile alien. It wasn't the best situation she'd ever landed in, but she'd certainly been in worst scrapes. Her priority now was keeping Charley and Amy safe, and attempting to get to the bottom of just what Ed was after. With that in mind Rose had seized on Ed's temporary distraction – due to the loss of his arm – to send both Charley and Amy out of Peter's penthouse. They'd both followed her instructions immediately, and hopefully were safely in the lift now and out of harm's way.

'Hey, are you enjoying your panic room, Master of Darkness? God you are such a pussy, I love it!' Ed taunted, laughing as he kicked at the door one final time before turning back to Rose. 'Looks like little Petey isn't so keen on joining the party. I guess that means it's just you and me now, _Rose Tyler_.'

'Now, Ed,' a smooth lilting voice came from behind the teenage vampire. 'Is that any way to address a lady?'

Rose knew the moment she laid eyes upon the newcomer that he was not human. He moved with all the grace of a predator; his steps soundless, and his gaze cold and calculating as he entered the room. It was deceptive the way he stood before her, dressed smartly in a sleek black button down, worn casually with expensive jeans and polished black doc martens – the very picture of a fit, well-to-do, mid-thirties, middle class man. But his eyes held the secret of his existence, and the very sight of him caused the small hairs on the back of Rose's neck to stand to attention. His eyes bored into her own, leaving Rose with the uncomfortable feeling that he could read her thoughts.

Hastily she broke eye contact and tried her best to lock her thoughts away behind a door in her mind, but the Doctor had only ever mentioned telepathy in passing and she doubted her abilities to keep this monster out. Jerry's amused smirk did nothing to alleviate her discomfort – in fact it only confirmed her fears that this alien had some latent telepathic ability.

'Go and play with your friends,' Jerry directed at Ed, never once taking his eyes off Rose. 'Ms Tyler and I have business to discuss.'

Ed frowned, but he had no choice but to obey the order. Silently he disappeared from the room, and Rose did not doubt that he had gone to seek out Charley and Amy.

'I'm warning you now,' Rose said coolly. 'If any harm comes to either Charley or Amy, I _will_ make sure you regret it.'

Jerry raised an eyebrow, eyeing Rose curiously for a long moment before he smirked once again.

'I do not doubt that you will, _Rose Tyler_,' he replied smoothly, moving silently towards the bar.

As he neared the panic room, Rose saw him stiffen slightly but he ignored the room in favour of selecting one of Peter's more expensive whiskies. He poured himself a generous finger of whiskey and tipped it back leisurely before pouring himself a second glass. Once this was done he returned his attention to Rose again, moving to seat himself in Peter's wing-backed chair. It bothered Rose that he chose that particular chair, and it must have shown on her face because Jerry shot her a knowing smirk as he positioned himself comfortably in the chair.

'Very well,' he continued lazily, 'you have my word that they won't be harmed. The boy will simply ensure they do not leave until we are done. Think of it as insurance,' he suggested amusedly, gesturing for her to seat herself in one of the other chairs. 'After all, I have no quarrel with you, Rose.'

She glared at him, but seated herself regardless, annoyed that she was so powerless in this situation. Until she knew what this creature wanted though, she was doomed to play along. However, that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for him.

'It seems you have me at a disadvantage,' she replied coldly. 'You appear to know my name, and yet I do not know yours.'

'You disapprove of the name "Jerry" then?'

Rose was beginning to hate his smirk.

'Oh, I don't know,' she breezed, attempting to keep her anger at bay. 'You look more like a Mike to me, or maybe a Travis? Or perhaps you should have gone with something a bit more "vampire"? You know, like Vladimir for instance? Or even just "Count Dracula"?'

Despite the light tone, her gaze was steely as she looked Jerry over. She was pleased to note her flippancy had irritated him, causing the calm mask to slip temporarily. Good, she thought steadily, the angrier Jerry got, the more likely he was to make a mistake. And when he made that mistake, Rose intended to capitalise on it without hesitation.

'I would be _very_ careful with your words, Rose Tyler,' he answered tightly, his tone becoming dangerous. 'I have very little patience left now, and absolutely none for _pathetic_ human humour. "Jerry" is the only alternative to my name that your people are capable of pronouncing, and I will not be mocked because of your own inadequacies. You are such a _primitive_ race,' he spat out bitterly, 'and yet you continue to survive – the vermin of the universe.'

'Be that as it may, _Jerry_,' Rose continued, unperturbed, 'this is a level 5 planet. I'm quite certain the Shadow Proclamation would be very interested to hear that you're on Earth. Particularly since you've committed murder here – a direct breach of galactic law.'

'Undoubtedly those interfering morons would be interested to know I'm on Earth, but your threat is an empty threat, Rose. They don't listen to dead girls,' he replied calmly, swirling his whiskey disinterestedly.

Rose stiffened, but refused to give Jerry the satisfaction of providing an answer.

'I'll admit you had me for a little while there, _Rose Tyler_,' he continued, smirking as he noticed Rose flinch. The way he spoke her name was so profoundly different from the way the Doctor did. It was cold and predatory, and a timely reminder that Jerry was dangerous.

'Peter Vincent's mysterious companion,' he declared. 'You never strayed too far from him, always in the background – keeping an eye on him. But nobody seemed to know who you were. I'd almost given up bothering with you when I stumbled across your lovely Italian friend. Francesca wasn't it?' Jerry asked innocently, mockingly rolling the "r".

Rose felt her blood freeze as the monster made light of Francesca's death.

'I've always been partial to the Mediterranean people,' he continued smoothly, his tone making Rose nauseous. 'Their blood is so much thicker than you Westerners. Much richer, and filled with a certain sweetness that is lacking in the American people – too much fast food, I daresay. I _enjoyed_ meeting her, immensely. But that's beside the point, is it not, Rose?'

He paused momentarily, attempting to goad her into speaking, but Rose refused to be drawn into his game. Jerry sniffed, hiding an amused smirk before he continued on.

'Suffice it to say, she happily provided your name to me and once I had _that,_ it took me very little time to look you up, _Rose Tyler_,' he continued amusedly. 'You died in 2006, Rose. Supposedly, you were killed by those redundant little metal men.'

Rose fought to keep her emotions at bay, settling for a blank facade as she stared Jerry down. She couldn't believe this _creature_ had the audacity to sit here and talk of Francesca's death so casually.

'Congratulations,' she muttered sarcastically. 'You've figured out my name. It was hardly a kept secret.'

'No,' Jerry agreed lightly. 'But your file never mentioned your propensity to travel in time.'

Rose raised an eyebrow, intent on hiding her discomfort from Jerry.

'Must have forgotten to mention that part when I filled out the census form,' she replied airily.

Jerry let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting dangerously. Before Rose could react, Jerry had launched himself out of his chair, and in the space of a second was standing before her – his hands pinning her own to the armrest as he invaded her personal space. Rose tried to pull back, but his grip was unwavering. She could feel her heart beating at double speed as she turned her head away, determined to ignore the fact that Jerry's face was mere inches from her own. Rose fought to maintain her calm as Jerry leaned in closer, so that his nose was touching her neck – right above her pulsing carotid artery. He sniffed then, running his nose along the artery that supplied blood to her brain.

'You see, you don't fool me, Rose,' he whispered seductively, as though he was getting great enjoyment from her discomfort. 'I can _smell_ it on you. You _reek_ of time. Not just time though, I can smell the infernal void on you. It's a sort of bitter flavour, you know? Something I haven't smelt in a long time. Not since before the War. I _miss_ that flavour. It's been so very long since I last tasted the void...'

Rose jerked back as she felt Jerry's tongue against her neck, no longer able to deny that she wasn't terrified. The need to run was so great that Rose wondered if her heart might just give out – it was beating so quickly. She tried to pull away from Jerry, certain that he was about to kill her. Her struggles were in vain though, trapped as she was by his iron grip that held her securely in place. He chuckled as he felt her struggling, pausing only to tighten his grip before he leaned closer and slowly dragged his tongue along her carotid artery – tasting her. He stopped just beneath her ear and Rose felt the slightest pressure as he sucked against the skin there, holding it long enough that it became painful. Finally he released the sensitive skin, and Rose knew he'd left a bruise. It was all she could do to remain still though as he brushed his teeth against the spot – a reminder of just how easy it would be for him to rip her throat out – before he finally pulled back.

'I'd have had you for your time touched blood, Rose, if it weren't the wrong type,' he sighed regretfully. 'It's certainly nothing compared to _his_, but it would have been a start.'

The pressure on her arms disappeared suddenly as Jerry returned to his seat. Shakily, Rose wrapped her bruised limbs around her torso, unwilling to let Jerry anywhere near her ever again. It was rare for her to become so affected by an alien but Jerry terrified her, and it took all of her willpower not to reach up and feel the bruise he'd left on her neck. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd rattled her.

Jerry laughed. 'You're practically radiating fear, Rose,' he chastised. 'And even if you weren't, I know _exactly_ how rattled you are.'

He smiled cruelly. Silently, Rose once again cursed her lack of knowledge regarding telepathy, before steeling herself to the best of her abilities and fixing Jerry with a cold look.

'What do you want from Peter?'

Jerry scoffed, draining the remainder of his drink in one go.

'As is? Nothing,' he replied dangerously. 'What use do I have for a mediocre _human_ illusionist?'

Rose had to remind herself to breathe as dread suffused her. It was impossible, she thought. Jerry couldn't possibly know, yet the way he was looking at her. He _knew_. Rose could see it in his cold brown eyes, as clear as day.

'I don't want _Peter Vincent_,' Jerry continued, dangerously. 'I want _the Doctor_.'

Rose was already shaking her head in denial.

'He's not the Doctor,' she said, with as much certainty as she could muster. After all, Peter's life – and by extension the Doctor's – depended on her ability to lie.

'You disappoint me, Rose,' Jerry murmured disgustedly. 'I thought you might have had a bit more insight than the rest of your primitive race, but it seems I was mistaken.'

Within the blink of an eye he was suddenly standing in front of her again, his fingers digging into the already painful bruises he'd created minutes ago.

'Don't you understand, Rose,' he hissed. 'You _can't_ lie to me. I can smell it on him. Oh, it's faint,' he admitted, 'but it's there – the hint of time and the vortex. All that _power_. It's his essence, really, and I'd recognise _his_ stench anywhere. He might have hidden himself away as a human, but he can't remove the smell of _death_ that follows him. Can't you smell it, Rose? He oozes death and destruction. All those lives he took, and even now I can still smell their blood on his hands.'

'What do you want?' Rose repeated defiantly, only just managing to keep her voice steady.

'I want to make him suffer,' Jerry answered simply, smiling cruelly at her. 'I want _him_ to pay for what he did at the Gates of Elysium. He slaughtered _thousands_ of my people during that battle. And that was _nothing_ compared to what he did next.'

The hatred in Jerry's tone stunned Rose, but she had no idea what he was talking about. She knew the Doctor's life was complicated. That he'd seen and done more in his time than Rose could ever imagine, but she also knew that despite everything he was a _good_ man. Even if that meant he'd had to make more than his fair share of terrible decisions. Rose wasn't naive; she knew the Doctor had blood on his hands. He'd never told her much about those times in his lives, preferring to live in the moment as opposed to the past, but he never ever forgot those moments. And he regretted every single life he'd ever taken. Rose _knew_ that. It was chilling though, to hear how much Jerry loathed the Doctor, and despite knowing he was a good man, Rose couldn't help but wonder what the Doctor had done to warrant such hatred.

'Oh, he deserves it, Rose,' Jerry whispered coolly. 'In fact, I'm certain he'd tell you so himself.'

Rose had to concede that Jerry probably had a point. The Doctor was well known for putting himself directly into the line of fire, irrespective of his role in events, when it came to taking blame. That didn't mean for one second though that she believed he deserved Jerry's wrath.

'You get one warning, Jerry,' she replied stonily. 'This is it.'

Jerry threw back his head and laughed. It was a terrible, cold laugh, and it chilled Rose to the bone.

'You amuse me greatly, Rose Tyler,' he commented, finally releasing her from his painful grip. 'Perhaps I'll keep you around for a few decades. It might be entertaining to watch the Time Lord's hearts break.'

'I wasn't joking,' Rose replied bravely, although she couldn't quite hide her confusion. If he wasn't going to kill the Doctor, what did Jerry want with him?

'Oh, I'm not going to kill him, Rose,' Jerry replied knowingly, his smirk proof that he'd once again managed to access her thoughts. 'Not immediately. That's far too kind, and rather detrimental to my cause. I'm going to _harvest_ him – for half a dozen life cycles, at least.'

'What?'

'It's only fair, Rose,' Jerry replied. 'He destroyed my planet, after all. Now he can watch as I rebuild my people on Earth. By the time I'm finished with your precious Time Lord, there won't be a place for humans on this stinking piece of rock.'

'He'll _never_ let you get away with that,' Rose promised.

'Ah, but you see, you're my leverage, Rose. Your life, for his cooperation. I don't think there's anything he won't let me do.'

'Last chance, Jerry,' Rose warned. 'Think whatever you want to think about this planet. Call us primitive, underestimate us even. But know this – _it is defended_.'

'I might have to reconsider keeping you around, Rose, if you're going to be this tiresome. There are other ways –'

Jerry broke off suddenly, his fist flying to his chest – to where his heart would be, if he were human – as he doubled over in pain. An inhumane sound was torn from his lips, a cry of pain and rage, before he finally straightened up again. And when he did, any trace of humanity had left his features.

The planes of his face had elongated beyond recognition, the skin paling to a horrible unnatural and deathly colour, and his mouth widening to incorporate a set of teeth that belonged in a horror movie. It took all of Rose's willpower not to recoil as Jerry turned his burning black gaze upon her.

He stared at her for one timeless second before he whirled around and was gone, disappearing into the foyer with inhuman speed. It took Rose two precious seconds before she recalled that Charley and Amy might still be in the foyer. Scrambling out of her chair, Rose ran for the foyer, hoping against hope that the two teenagers had somehow gotten away from Jerry's sidekick.

They hadn't.

She found them clustered by the lift, Jerry's hand wrapped tightly around Charley's throat – suspending the boy a full two foot from the ground – as Amy tried desperately to pull Jerry off him before he strangled Charley to death.

'Less than _one_ _third_ of your backward race is eligible,' Jerry was shouting, his speech littered with expletives Rose had never heard before. 'Of those, 8% are capable of sustaining the conversion, and you thought it was your _right_ to release _him_? That boy belonged to me, Charley. He was _my_ property. And now I'm going to show you what happens when you destroy my property.'

'Put him down!'

Her tone – authoritative and unyielding – left little to the imagination. Even so, Rose wasn't entirely sure that Jerry would respond to her command. Seconds ticked by, passing as though they were hours, before Jerry finally moved. He loosened his grip on Charley's throat marginally, allowing the boy's feet to be reunited with the ground, before he turned to study her with distaste.

'Leave them out of this,' she ordered. 'Your quarrel is with me and the Doctor. These two have nothing to do with it.'

'And what would you give me in return for sparing their lives, Rose Tyler?'

'I'll give you me,' Rose answered simply.

'What use is that?'

'You want the Doctor, Jerry,' she replied surely. 'Take _me_, and I guarantee that _he'll_ come to _you_.'

It was a blatant lie, but Rose needed Jerry to believe her. The fob watch was well and truly lost for the time being, and no matter the similarities between Peter and the absent Time Lord there was one pressing difference which meant Rose was entirely incapable of predicting Peter's behaviour: Peter Vincent believed himself to be mortal.

The possibility of death rarely factored into the Doctor's assessment of a situation – not when his lifespan had the potential to be almost limitless. As such, _the Doctor's_ behaviour was predictable. In fact, Rose had no doubts that the Doctor would quite happily have taken her place as Jerry's hostage, had he been present.

Peter Vincent was an entirely different matter. He lived a life where he believed death was a very real possibility and something that, ultimately, could not be avoided. He was so very human in that respect and Rose could not begrudge him his fears, because she understood entirely what it was to be human. As such, she didn't even consider the option that Peter might entertain the notion of putting together some half-baked scheme to rescue her. In fact, she didn't expect him to come for her at all.

She wouldn't even call it cowardice because sometimes there truly were reasons that were too insurmountable for the human psyche to overcome. The British Army had called it cowardice during World War I, but Rose came from a time where Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a recognised phenomenon. And somehow whatever had been going on with the Doctor when he'd changed into Peter Vincent had had such an effect on Peter's psyche that the man's fear of vampires was enough to seriously incapacitate him.

So for the sake of Charley's and Amy's lives, Rose was willing to put her own on the line. It was a rather stupid plan, but by enacting it Rose hoped to gain enough time for Martha and Donna to somehow either find the fob watch or involve UNIT. For the plan to work though, she needed to convince Jerry that she had no doubt in her mind that the Doctor would come for her.

It was easy really, once she set her mind to it.

Rose simply allowed herself to recall all those times the Doctor had come back for her.

_Locked in a room with faulty sun shields...kidnapped by morticians...captured by Daleks...abandoned on a spaceship...left faceless on a 1950's suburban street...and all those other times he'd come for her, that she'd never ever forget._

She let those memories saturate her, until she was almost overwhelmed by her recollections of the Doctor. Memories of thoughts shared, hands held, and foes defeated suffused her until she felt as though she were brimming with happiness. And somewhere along the way, without any conscious thought, memories of a blue-suited part-human Doctor reaching for her hand on a cold deserted beach in Norway, and quiet times spent star gazing with a lonely and confused Peter Vincent slipped into her thoughts as well.

That was when Rose realised it had been an awfully long time since she'd simply focussed on the joy of having the Doctor in her life. She'd spent such a long time mourning him, as she'd struggled through everyday life without the Doctor in the parallel world, that she'd forgotten what a privilege it was to have the Doctor in her life. So much so that she'd failed to recognise the chance he'd given her by deciding to stay with her on that accursed beach in Norway. _He_ hadn't said goodbye, but had he really needed to when he'd already decided to spend the rest of his human life with her?

In that moment Rose wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

She'd gone and left him alone in Pete's universe because she hadn't been able to accept that perhaps, just perhaps, they'd be happy as they were. Instead she'd taken a huge risk, and temporarily stranded herself in the wrong universe, just to say goodbye to someone who'd already committed to spending the rest of his life with her. The irony was, that it had taken her getting stuck and meeting Peter Vincent to realise what she should have known all along. That it was _okay_ to let go.

The confused and struggling man she'd left behind was still the man she'd fallen in love with, and that was something she'd always known from the moment he'd whispered those words to her on Bad Wolf Bay. But perhaps she'd simply needed a reminder, and Peter had been just that.

Somehow, even without truly knowing himself, he'd managed to capture Rose's heart once again. Almost as easily as a blue-eyed, gruff Northerner once had. Rose knew there was a time coming when Peter would need to open a fob watch, and she knew that once he did so, Peter would be banished to the recesses of the Doctor's consciousness. She'd have to let _him_ go, and although it saddened her to know she'd be losing Peter Vincent, it wasn't really goodbye. Not forever.

She'd learnt to see the Doctor in Peter, and she knew without doubt that she'd _always_ be able to find _Peter_ in _the Doctor_. Knowing that, Rose came to the realisation that even though the full Time Lord Doctor had walked away, he'd left behind an integral part of himself with her, forever. It had taken meeting Peter Vincent though, for Rose to recognise the gift she'd been given. She'd always love the other Doctor, but now she _knew_ she could let him go as well.

'Do you always wallow in such sentimental filth?' Jerry asked disgustedly, hurling Rose back into reality.

He'd let Charley go and was standing before her with his eyes narrowed, appraising her. Thankfully he didn't seem to want an answer and spoke before Rose could open her mouth.

'We have a deal,' he answered shortly.

Reaching forward he grasped Rose by the elbow and pulled her so that she was forced to walk ahead of him. His grip was so tight that it felt as though he was grinding the two bones in her forearm together, but Rose wouldn't give him the satisfaction of complaining. Mutely she let him guide her towards the lift. Before they stepped into the lift, Jerry turned to address Amy, who was crouched next to the crumpled form of Charley. He'd clearly lost consciousness at some point and Amy was attempting to help him relax enough to get air through his damaged airway.

'Tell the Time Lord he has twenty four hours,' Jerry snapped.

Rose could see the confusion in the girl's eyes as she desperately looked to her for understanding.

'It's alright, Amy,' Rose reassured the girl, throwing caution to the wind. 'You just tell Martha and Donna exactly what happened when they come back. They'll know what to do.'

The girl frowned, but nodded anyway.

'And could you keep an eye on Peter?' she added belatedly, only just managing to get her message across before the lift doors shut in her face.

Jerry rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on her arm marginally.

'And to think that after all this time, a simple human girl would be his weakness.'

o0o

Martha knew the moment they got within sight of the Hard Rock Casino and Hotel that they were in trouble. Flashing lights were never a good sign, but the presence of a windowless black van was even more disconcerting. Martha knew exactly what those types of van were used for, and the presence of morticians did nothing to alleviate her anxiety. Donna seemed to recognise the van for what it was also because she shot Martha a worried look, automatically increasing her own pace to match Martha's as the pair hurried around the crowds to the service entrance.

By the time the pair had arrived at the local hospital, they'd realised something was amiss. Charley had been conspicuously absent from the hospital, and the state of his mother's room left no doubt in Martha's mind that Jerry had attacked the family. She had no idea where the boy had found that many crucifixes, but it was clear he was taking no chances with his mother's life. It was a pity they were unlikely to work on Jerry. Despite Jerry's supposed propensity towards blood sucking, Martha suspected that was the only "vampiric" trait Jerry shared. Aware of the fact that Jerry had a sophisticated teleportation system and spacecraft within the vicinity, she doubted that human mythology would provide the key to defeating this particular alien.

The kitchens were devoid of life as Martha and Donna cut through to the service lift, which despite the very early morning hour was completely unheard of for Hard Rock. Normally the kitchens ran almost continuously, but it seemed a body in the lobby of the hotel was one of the few incidents capable of temporarily shutting down Hard Rock.

They took the lift to Donna's floor in silence. A multitude of different scenarios running through Martha's mind as the lift smoothly propelled them upwards, and she wondered what awaited them in Peter's penthouse. They hadn't heard from Rose, and that worried her. Either Peter was perfectly fine and the pair had no idea what was going on in the hotel lobby, or something had happened. The fact that Rose had rung off to go and investigate an unexpected arrival, was not promising. She hid her worry as best she could though because she didn't want to alarm Donna. Although she might have missed the boat on that one, she realised belatedly.

Glancing to her right, she caught sight of a very subdued Donna, occupied with chewing her lip nervously as she waited for the lift to reach their destination. In fact Donna was so distracted that she startled badly when the "ping" of the lift announced their arrival. Martha knew then that she needed to say something.

Donna had already crossed the hall to call the private lift that would take them up to Peter's penthouse when Martha caught up with her. She reached out for Donna's arm and carefully pulled the other woman to a stop.

'You can walk away, you know,' she said gently. 'I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go back to your room.'

Donna's gaze drifted very briefly towards her apartment door before she returned her attention to Martha, her eyes alight with steely determination.

'Peter may be an arrogant git at times,' she admitted, 'and he's certainly pushed my buttons more times than I'd care to count, but he's still my best friend. I know I've only met the Doctor once, but I've spent three months with Peter and I'm not going to abandon him now. Even though he's gone and made himself the target of a psychopathic vampire,' she added dryly.

Martha's lips curled involuntarily into a small smirk as Donna's humour reasserted itself. The older woman sounded very much like a worn out mother, who couldn't quite believe that their wayward child had once again managed to end up in trouble. Donna would be alright, Martha realised with a wry grin. She was stronger than she looked.

'Okay,' she agreed, nodding to Donna as she reached over to call the private lift that would let them into Peter's penthouse. 'Let's do this.'


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Special shout out to _lastincureableromantic_ for looking over this chapter! Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter 13_

The foyer was dim and eerily silent as Martha and Donna stepped out of the lift. The lights that normally lit up the display cases were off, and ahead of them Martha could see glass on the floor from where someone had smashed in a cabinet. Cautiously she motioned for Donna to stay behind her as she moved into the room. The gesture earned her a disgusted snort and before she knew it, Donna was ahead of her and leading the way into Peter's penthouse. Martha rolled her eyes at the stubborn ginger-haired woman. Although it looked very much like the intruder had been and gone, it still paid to be cautious.

As they made their way through the foyer, Martha noted that in fact several cabinets had been knocked over completely and if she wasn't mistaken, there were small pools of blood on the floor. It had clearly been a fierce skirmish and she once again found herself hoping that both Rose and Peter were alright.

They found Charley and his girlfriend huddled together on Peter's couch.

Donna immediately rushed over to the kitchenette to fill two glasses of water for the shaken pair, whilst Martha moved to assess the teenagers. Neither Donna nor Martha had met Amy that afternoon, but Charley had mentioned her several times whilst he'd been telling them about Jerry. The way the young girl's attention was focussed solely on Charley left Martha in no doubt that she was indeed his girlfriend.

Quietly she introduced herself and Donna to Amy, catching the girl slightly off guard by the fact that she already knew her name. Once she understood that Martha was a doctor though, Amy's confusion and wariness disappeared and she allowed Martha to approach them. The girl had been crying, but she seemed to be physically alright – apart from some minor cuts and abrasions – and she automatically accepted the proffered glass of water from Donna. Charley was in worse shape, and it was to him that Martha turned her attention.

'Hello again, Charley,' she greeted kindly, crouching down beside the dazed boy. She could see immediately that his throat was badly swollen, and already there were finger-shaped bruises taking form across the abused flesh. 'I'm just going to have a look at your neck, alright?'

The boy nodded silently, granting Martha permission to gently palpate the damaged tissue. She was relieved he hadn't attempted to talk because she knew without doubt that mobilising his vocal cords at present would be exquisitely painful for him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Donna sit down next to Amy, holding the glass of water for her as the girl attempted to get her shaking hands under control. As she waited patiently for Amy to get herself back under control, Donna kept up a steady stream of murmured words of comfort, allowing Martha to focus entirely on Charley.

The boy's neck was in bad shape, the soft tissues swollen beyond recognition by leaking capillaries, and Martha realised she'd definitely need her doctor's bag from downstairs. Before she could leave to fetch the bag though she heard Donna's tone shift towards inquisitiveness, and found herself tuning into the conversation between Amy and Donna. Apparently the girl had calmed down enough to answer some questions.

'Can you tell us what happened, Amy?' Donna probed carefully.

The girl nodded.

'It was Jerry,' she breathed out. 'Charley's neighbour...he's a vampire,' she breathed out, as though she couldn't quite believe she was using the term.

Donna squeezed Amy's hand in reassurance, letting her know that both she and Martha believed her. The gesture must have sparked something in Amy's memory, because she seemed to realise who Martha and Donna were then.

'Oh,' she breathed out, her tone filled with relief. 'But you already know, don't you? Charley came to see you all this afternoon.'

'That's right,' Donna answered calmly. 'Martha and I both met Charley this afternoon and he managed to tell us a bit about Jerry.'

'He said you were going to deal with _him_.'

It wasn't an accusation, rather a simple statement of fact that slipped out unconsciously. Still, Martha couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that both Amy and Charley had been caught up in this mess. She could tell Donna felt similarly if the slight slump of her shoulders was anything to go by.

'I know, sweetheart, and we will deal with _him_,' she promised surely. 'But we need to know what happened here. We need to know where Peter and Rose are.'

'Mr Vincent?' Amy asked unsurely, her eyes flicking towards the kitchen area.

Martha automatically looked over her shoulder, but there was nothing to be seen in the kitchen.

'Yes that's right,' Donna answered. 'Tall, skinny idiot, with hair that looks like a bird's nest,' she added, succeeding in getting a small chuckle out of Amy.

'He's still here,' Amy murmured quietly. 'He panicked when Ed...' she trailed off suddenly, a few tears escaping despite her best efforts to keep her emotions under control.

Donna hastily dug through her pockets, pulling out a small packet of crumpled travel tissues. She opened the unused packet and offered one to Amy, who accepted it gratefully and used it to clean herself up a bit.

'Sorry,' the girl murmured. 'Ed was Charley's best friend,' she explained. 'Jerry got to him...turned him into one of those creatures...and Charley...' she trailed off helplessly, reaching for her boyfriend's hand. Martha could see Charley was similarly affected, and she suspected she knew how the story ended.

'Ed was really angry...' Amy continued after a moment, 'and it all got out of hand...he _needed_ Charley to free him...so he did,' she finished simply, pulling Charley into a tight hug as the boy struggled to keep his own tears under control.

'I'm so sorry,' Donna said quietly, her tone full of understanding as she realised what the teenagers had had to do.

Amy nodded tightly, accepting the apology.

'Anyway,' she continued stoically, managing not to sound too shaky, 'Mr Vincent's still here. Jerry wants him dead for some reason...but he left him here when he realised he wouldn't be able to break into the room. He took the other lady with him instead...Rose, I think?' she explained.

'Oh!' exclaimed Martha, getting to her feet and glancing towards the panic room. 'I completely forgot he had that room! He's definitely in there?'

Amy nodded, and Martha hurried over to the hidden doorway that stood off to the side of Peter's kitchen area. Hurried footsteps behind her announced Donna's arrival.

'You knew he had a panic room?' she asked in surprise, seeing what she had always assumed was a wall for the hidden doorway it actually was.

Martha nodded, her attention captured by the small intercom mounted on the wall. It took her a few moments but eventually she was able to switch the device on. A grainy image of the room filled the screen and she noted with relief that Peter was indeed occupying the panic room. Martha moved to the side so that Donna could see the image also, before activating the intercom.

'Peter?'

Silence pervaded from the panic room.

'Peter? It's Martha and Donna,' Martha tried again.

The fuzzy video feed remained unchanged on the small screen, and Martha shared a concerned look with Donna as Peter failed to move from his slumped position against the back wall of the panic room.

'Peter? Can you hear me?'

Chewing on her lip, Martha decided to try one final time as Peter failed to rouse once again.

'Peter, can you lift your head up, please?'

The request went unanswered and Martha finally conceded defeat. She stood at the door for a moment longer, considering her options, before she moved back towards the couch and fetched the tablet she'd put down there when they'd first arrived.

'Donna, the code to the panic room is stored under the file labelled "Peter Vincent",' Martha instructed, handing over the tablet which was fast becoming familiar to the other woman. 'I've got to get my doctor's bag from downstairs, but I need you to unlock the door. Once you're inside, see if you can rouse him. If you can't, you need to put him into the recovery position until I get back. I shouldn't be that long, but if he vomits you'll need to make sure his airway is kept clear.'

Martha realised belatedly that her explanation was probably a little overwhelming, judging from Donna's gobsmacked expression.

'Okay, just work on getting the door open,' she amended, already turning to leave.

'How the hell do you have his access codes?' Donna called bewilderedly after Martha's retreating figure.

'UNIT,' Martha answered simply, not pausing in her retreat.

She was just about to step into the foyer when she caught the end of Donna's muttered reply.

'There has got to be some sort of law against this.'

Martha resisted the urge to chuckle as she left Donna to fiddle with the tablet. Perhaps with any other Earth citizen it _would_ be considered an invasion of privacy, but when it came to protecting Peter Vincent, Martha had no qualms at all in doing everything humanly possible to keep the Doctor safe.

o0o

By the time Martha arrived back upstairs, Donna had managed to successfully navigate the tablet and locate the access code to Peter's panic room. As instructed, she'd rolled the slightly built illusionist into the recovery position – he wasn't half heavy as a dead weight – and had done her best to make sure his breathing was normal. He'd remained completely unresponsive the entire time, except for a small moan he'd let out as Donna had pulled him towards her as she'd rolled him over.

'I won't be a minute, Charley,' Martha promised, as she passed through the open plan living room. 'I've just got to check Peter hasn't suffered a life-threatening injury.'

Donna looked up as she heard Martha enter the panic room.

'He reeks of alcohol,' she supplied grimly.

'Of course he does,' Martha agreed, sounding completely unsurprised by Donna's declaration. In fact, she made a point of disapprovingly nudging the empty Midori bottle lying next to Peter pointedly out of the way as she put down her doctor's bag. She'd noticed it on the blurry video feed screen before she'd gone downstairs, and had assumed that Peter's state of unconsciousness was directly related to the presence of alcohol in the panic room. Donna looked as though she wanted to say something in response to Martha's brusque tone, but seemed to decide against it. Instead she swapped places with Martha, coming to sit behind Peter, so that Martha could assess him properly from the front.

Kneeling beside the unconscious man Martha reached for his wrist, feeling for a pulse. She placed her other hand close to his slack-jawed mouth, ensuring she could feel his breath against the back of her hand. Satisfied that his heart was beating steadily, Martha gently manipulated his jaw to ensure the airway would remain patent. With that task completed, she reached for her doctor's bag and pulled out a small palm reader device and a blood lancet, the latter of which she used to prick Peter's finger.

A small drop of blood immediately welled from the tiny prick wound, which she then carefully manipulated onto the test strip. Feeding the strip into the palm reader, Martha extracted a small dot bandaid from her bag and absentmindedly applied it to the prick wound she'd made on Peter's index finger as she waited for the results.

'What's that?' Donna asked curiously, indicating the palm reader.

'It's a new type of portable clinical analyser,' Martha explained, her own gaze coming to rest on the slowly filling progress bar which indicated the analysis was almost complete. 'They're beginning to phase prototypes into hospital A&E's, but it'll be a while before they match what we have access to at UNIT. This device can read all his basic bloods from that single blood drop, and more than a few of the more complex tests as well.'

The machine beeped and Martha's attention returned to it immediately. With practiced ease she flicked through the multitude of results the infinitesimally small droplet of Peter's blood had yielded. When she saw the blood alcohol level, her jaw dropped.

'What is it?' Donna asked worriedly, glancing over Martha's shoulder in an attempt to read the screen of the palm-sized device.

'His blood alcohol level is 0.426,' Martha answered disbelievingly.

Donna frowned as she tried to recall whether that was a high blood alcohol level or not. She'd always caught a cab home after clubbing, so had never had to worry about legal limits for driving.

'Is that high?'

'It's almost lethal for a human,' Martha explained tightly. 'He's bloody lucky he's not dead.'

Donna was surprised by Martha's vehemence. While Donna watched, the younger woman pulled a whole swathe of bagged sterile items out of her bag before applying a tourniquet to Peter's right arm. Based on Martha's jilted movements, Donna got the impression she was annoyed with Peter.

'What are you doing?' she asked diplomatically, in the hopes that her question would distract Martha from her anger.

With gloved hands, Martha was inserting a cannula into one of the bulging veins in the crook of the man's arm. Holding the cannula in place with one hand, she snapped the tourniquet off and set about making sure the thin plastic tube was secured within the vein using an adhesive dressing.

'The medication he needs has to be given intravenously.'

'Oh.'

Martha's abrupt answer made it clear she didn't want to discuss Peter's medical management with Donna. At a loss for what to say next, Donna watched as Martha drew up a dosage of clear liquid from two small glass bottles. She then injected the dose into a standard fluid bag, upending the bag several times to ensure the medication was adequately mixed in. It took Martha four attempts to attach the connections between the cannula and fluid bag, and Donna could hear the younger woman cursing under her breath each time the bung slipped out of her fingers.

'He didn't just go and make himself human again, he had to go and make himself an alcoholic,' she commented acerbically, as she finally succeeded in setting up the IV line.

It was a muttered comment, but Donna still caught it.

'That's not fair, Martha,' she spoke up, her tone mildly reproachful. 'Rose said he was petrified of vampires.'

Martha let out a deep sigh, collapsing back onto her haunches as she finally looked up at Donna.

'I know,' she acquiesced tiredly. 'It's just...'

She trailed off momentarily, fiddling with the connection once again. Donna waited patiently for her to finish her thought.

'It makes me so angry when he does this,' she finally burst out. 'This self-destruction habit of his,' she elaborated, waving her hand around as though she could encompass the entire situation with that single gesture.

Donna nodded sympathetically; she thought she had an idea what Martha was talking about.

'And it's not just Peter,' Martha continued sadly. 'It's _all_ of him. The Doctor _too_. I mean, Peter's proof enough that he wasn't coping, but why didn't he ask for help? Why didn't he say anything?'

Martha's beseeching tone caught Donna off guard, and in that instant she realised the true impact Peter Vincent had had on them all. The Doctor had chosen to run, but Martha and Rose had chosen to stay. Listening to Martha now, Donna realised just how hurt her friend had been by the Doctor's decision, and she felt terrible for not realising sooner.

'Sometimes,' she began gently, reaching out to grasp Martha's hand, 'we need distance to gain perspective. I'm not saying changing into Peter was the best decision he's ever made, but I think it was the right decision for the Doctor at the time. As his friend, it's not easy to watch him run away from you, but perhaps he chose to run because in the back of that big stupid alien brain of his, he knew we'd all be waiting for him when he came back.'

Martha offered her a watery smile, briefly squeezing Donna's hand before relinquishing it.

'I know he has his reasons, but sometimes I don't think he can see how much it hurts _us_ to watch him systematically sabotage his own life.'

Martha returned her attention to the fluid bag, effectively ending the conversation. Sensing her need to process their conversation, Donna let her.

'I've got to go and look after Charley,' Martha said, after a moment of silence. 'I've given Peter a rapid rehydration drug that's exclusive to UNIT. It'll correct his electrolyte imbalance, and although it's not normally used for the purposes of correcting intoxication, it will also ensure the alcohol in his system is metabolised.'

'What do you need me to do?' Donna asked, sensing that Martha was explaining for a reason.

'It's not going to be pleasant,' she admitted frankly. 'He's got a huge volume of alcohol to metabolise which means the side-effects are going to be much more marked than normal. Essentially, he's going to loathe us for waking him up.'

Donna snorted. 'Unfortunately I can't say that I've never dealt with a hung-over Peter before.'

Martha smiled tightly.

'Well,' she continued, 'he's going to be a little bit more unbearable than normal. I'll need you to make sure he doesn't pull the IV out because it's imperative that he gets this drug. We need him sober and we need the Doctor. We've got less than twenty-four hours to get Rose back, and I know she didn't want to force Peter's hand but we can't afford to tiptoe around anymore – we _need_ to know where the fob watch is.'

'I wish there was another way to go about this, but I agree,' Donna replied heavily. 'We need the Doctor.'

Martha nodded grimly.

'He should start to wake up in the next ten minutes or so,' she finished. 'Give me a shout if you need something, I'll just be out with Charley.'

Donna watched her go, settling in for the wait.

o0o

It was closer to fifteen minutes by the time Peter began to stir. Where he'd been completely motionless before, Donna began to notice small movement as previously inert muscles were stretched and flexed as his body reawakened. He groaned, still asleep, but clearly feeling the effects of his intoxication if the frown marring his brow was anything to judge by. Donna wondered if she should call Martha back in as he seemed to be quite uncomfortable. She could hear the low murmur of voices from the open plan living room though, and she got the impression Martha was caught up helping Charley and questioning Amy. Besides, Martha had warned that he'd dislike the treatment. If Martha _had_ been worried about the effect the medication might have on Peter, Donna was certain she'd have stayed with him. As it was, she decided it was best that she let Martha see to Charley and simply continue to keep an eye on Peter.

Her wandering attention was returned to the present as Peter let out another groan, beginning to move about in earnest now. His eyes were still shut, but almost immediately a questing hand had found the IV and was blindly attempting to remove it. Swiftly, Donna reached for the offending appendage and gently pulled it away from the IV.

'It's alright, Peter,' she murmured, subconsciously smoothing his hair back from his forehead as she remained crouched beside him. 'Martha's put in an IV, but you need to leave it alone.'

He groaned once again before rolling entirely onto his back, finally opening his eyes. Peter squinted up at Donna, clearly finding the lighting offensive to his sensitive retinas. There were a few seconds where he simply stared at her blankly before recognition seemed to enter his gaze.

'S'whaat'sa 'oing on?' he slurred groggily, blinking up at her as he tried to sit up. 'What'sa yer doh'ing?'

'You drank yourself into oblivion, Peter,' Donna replied dryly, unable to hide her own anger entirely. 'Martha's fixed you up.'

'I feel like shit,' he groaned, letting his head flop back onto the ground.

He scrunched up his eyes temporarily, pressing his hands deep into the sockets. Gently, Donna reached out to pull his hands away, worried that he'd do himself damage if he pressed much harder.

'You look it as well,' she replied honestly.

That seemed to get Peter's attention, his eyes snapping open immediately as he stared accusingly at her. He opened his mouth to retort and just as quickly slammed it shut, his face paling significantly. Donna frowned.

'What is it?' she asked concernedly, helping him to pull himself up so that he was sitting against the wall of the panic room.

'I'm going to be sick,' he warned desperately, his face paling even more if that was possible.

Donna reeled back automatically, before realising she probably needed to get him a bucket. Thankfully she didn't have to look far to locate one. There was a small pail stashed amongst the water bottles – she really didn't want to know what its intended purpose was – that she grabbed, and fairly slammed into Peter's chest in her haste to get it to him. He accepted it without question, ducking his head over it as he waited for his stomach to hurl up its contents.

Thirty seconds later, and he still hadn't vomited.

'Are you sure you're going to be sick?' Donna asked suspiciously, surprised he hadn't hurled yet given how pale he'd become.

Peter raised his head, glaring disgustedly at her. Donna rolled her eyes, but dutifully remained silent.

She gave him a minute before she spoke again.

'Most people would have hurled by now,' she pointed out helpfully.

'I'm well aware of that, Donna,' Peter replied sarcastically, his voice muffled by the pail.

Two minutes later, Peter finally conceded defeat. Despite the overwhelming sense of nausea it seemed his stomach had no interest in relinquishing its contents. Saliva had pooled expectantly in his mouth though, and much to Donna's disgust he spat as much of it as he could out into the pail. Unfortunately that didn't seem to trigger his stomach either. Giving up, he dragged his head out of the pail to stare miserably at Donna.

'I can't vomit,' he declared mournfully.

'Well that's good, isn't it?' Donna replied pragmatically. 'I would have thought you'd be relieved not to be hurling your guts up.'

'Have you ever felt so nauseous that you _knew_ you were about to vomit, and then been completely unable to relieve that nausea because you can't fucking vomit?' Peter snapped, eyeing the bottom of his pail distastefully as though it was the pail's fault that his stomach was refusing to yield.

'No.'

'Well it fucking sucks,' Peter groused.

'That would be the medication.'

Martha had returned, catching both Peter and Donna by surprise.

'What do you mean?' Peter asked suspiciously. 'What medication? Wait,' he exclaimed, glancing towards his arm seemingly only now noticing the cannula in situ. 'Why the fuck do I have an IV in?'

He immediately went to pull it out, but Donna stopped him, shooting him a stern look that just dared him to pull it out under her watch. Wisely, Peter left the IV alone.

'You've got an IV in because that was the only way I was going to be able to reverse your intoxication,' Martha explained irritably. 'Believe me, Peter, if it hadn't been necessary for you to be alert and sober, I'd quite happily have left you to endure the killer hangover you undoubtedly would have had tomorrow morning, in the hopes that it might just deter you from drinking yourself into a stupor again. As it is, the medication I've given you is correcting the damage you've done to yourself.'

Peter scowled.

'Well it's not very good, is it? This nausea is fucking unbearable.'

He groaned, leaning over the pail to once more deposit the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth, desperately hoping that he might gain some relief from the insistent nausea.

'Unfortunately, you required such a high dose of the medication to counteract the intoxication that you're experiencing one of the more severe side-effects of the drug,' Martha explained, not sounding particularly sorry in Peter's opinion. 'The drug I gave you has an anti-emetic agent which is what's stopping you from being able to vomit, and normally it would also work as an anti-nausea agent. Except at high doses it becomes unreliable and has been reported to cause intolerable nausea in some patients.'

'Fan-_bloody_-tastic,' Peter growled, before dry-retching into the pail. He groaned as his stomach once more failed to comply with his wishes. The feeling of nausea was a thousand times worse than any hangover he'd ever had, and if he'd had a choice he'd have taken the pounding headache and numerous vomits any day over the blasted unending nausea.

Martha must have noticed his distress because she finally seemed to relent a bit, coming to crouch beside him as she inspected the fluid bag, which had nearly run its course.

'It won't last too much longer,' she promised gently. 'Maybe another ten minutes at most. Sorry,' she added, genuinely sounding apologetic as well.

Peter had known since she'd stepped into the room that the physician was upset with him. In fact, he could tell Donna was as well. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd done to earn their ire, but he suspected it had something to do with drinking two bottles of Midori in a very short period of time. He couldn't quite remember yet what had led him to such a drastic response, but the fact that he'd woken up in his panic room worried him. What had he forgotten?

He pondered that question in silence as he waited for the nausea to abate. Thankfully, close to eight minutes later, it finally subsided enough that he was certain he could relinquish his death grip on the pail. Martha and Donna both looked up at the movement. The pair of them had been sitting silently beside Peter the whole time, although he got the impression there had been some kind of secret communication occurring between the pair, if the amount of subtle head movements and pointed looks was anything to go by.

'Better?' Donna asked tentatively, finally breaking the silence.

Peter nodded, not quite trusting himself to open his mouth for the moment – why tempt fate, he thought sardonically.

'Right,' said Martha, standing briskly. 'Let's get you out of here.'

Peter realised then that they'd been waiting on him for some reason. He considered ignoring the request, but decided that he didn't particularly want to remain in this room. It hadn't escaped his attention that there was a collection of something that looked awfully like dried blood by the doorway. Accepting that he'd probably have to go along with Donna and Martha for the time being, he allowed himself to be helped to his feet and with the assistance of the two women was guided to one of the stools by his kitchen countertop. He sank into the stool gratefully, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Although he was feeling a great deal better, he was still somewhat shaky on his legs. Whatever medication Martha had given him had certainly worked wonders, but at the same time having the IV running was making him feel a little heady as the drug did its work. Leaning forward he rested his head on the countertop, willing the world to stay still for a moment.

Once he was certain he wasn't going to tip off the stool, he finally raised his head off the countertop and took in his surroundings. Donna was beside him, fiddling with some tablet device she'd acquired at some point. Peter tried to glance at the screen, catching sight of strange graphs and graphics, before Donna seemed to sense his interest and deliberately tilted the screen away from him. He raised an eyebrow, silently requesting some kind of explanation but she was unforthcoming, her attention diverting to something behind him. As he'd expected, Martha had caught the other woman's attention, but what Peter hadn't expected was to find that Martha wasn't alone. He frowned as he caught sight of Charley and Amy.

'What are they doing here?' he asked Donna, doing his best to keep his voice low.

Apparently he'd failed spectacularly at that because not only did Martha glance over at him in surprise, but both Amy and Charley looked at him as though he'd sprouted two heads. It seemed Martha had been administering some kind of first aid to the pair of teenagers, who looked as though they'd been in some kind of skirmish judging by the number of small cuts and abrasions they'd picked up.

'You invited us here, Mr Vincent,' Amy finally answered, looking confused by his apparent amnesia. 'Remember? You called Charley.'

Peter stared at her.

'No,' he denied, shaking his head. 'No, no, no,' he repeated desperately.

Because he did remember.

He remembered it all now.

Memories of the past evening flooded him, almost overwhelming him in their haste to remind him of the events that had taken place – the events that he'd tried so hard to forget.

_Finding Charley's picture of the insignia...realising he'd seen the insignia before...calling Charley because he knew he should warn the boy before he left...steeling himself for the boy's arrival with a few drinks...accepting the parcel delivery...realising he'd given Ed an invitation...somehow finding the courage to face the vampire...the feeling of déjà-vu...the sound of his mother's screams...the blood..._

_..._

_...and Rose..._

He opened his eyes, gasping for breath as though he'd run a marathon – one single thought on his mind.

'Where's Rose?'


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Thank you very much to lastincureableromantic, who had a look at this chapter in its early stages and gave me some very sound advice. The results of which, you see below. To all those following along, I can't thank you enough for your reviews and favourites. You're all brilliant. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

_Chapter 14_

_Gone._

A single word was all it took to bring Peter's carefully constructed world crashing down around his ears. He'd told himself he'd made it up as a child, that he'd imagined the vampire that had killed his parents. The memory of that night had shaped his entire life though, and he realised belatedly that he'd been a fool to think he'd ever truly escaped Jerry. He'd thought perhaps, that he might have had a shot at some kind of normal life with Rose, that he'd finally earned the right to be happy. But Donna's explanation regarding Rose's fate had quite effectively and very efficiently proved him wrong.

_Gone._

The unforgiving word echoed throughout his mind, consuming his thoughts, and it was all Peter could do to remember how to breathe properly. His lungs burned uncomfortably, something he was certain shouldn't be possible, and he took several gasping breaths to correct the oxygen deficit. Reality seemed to shift and blur around him, as the feelings of loss intensified the more he realised he was never going to see Rose again. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, blinking as he tried to force back the sensation of déjà vu. Donna's words had awoken part of his mind that had hitherto been securely locked away; a vast consciousness that was trying desperately to reassert control. Nothing was as it seemed and Peter's reality was about to change, forever.

_Gone._

He gasped for breath as the word grounded him once again, reassuring Peter that his mind was entirely his own again. Rose was gone. Taken by Jerry, Donna had explained. She was still talking in fact, but Peter had long since stopped listening. He understood what "gone" meant. Rose was dead, or as good as. Peter knew that. He understood how Jerry worked. He understood there was no hope where this monster was concerned. What he couldn't understand, was why Donna was still nattering on, like an endless broken record. What the fuck did it matter how Rose had been taken? The point was she was gone now, and there was _nothing_ Peter could do to change that. He couldn't turn back time. He couldn't fucking save her.

_Not this time._

Because somehow Peter knew this wasn't the first time he'd believed Rose Tyler had died. Impossibly, he was certain that he'd felt this particular grief before. As if unlocked by the remembrance that Rose was gone, a memory resurfaced that Peter was at once both absolutely certain did not belong to him, as he was certain that he had in fact lived through the very events he was recalling.

_The lift had been too slow. He'd known that the moment they'd stepped out onto floor 407. He'd taken too long to unlock Game Room 6 and now here he was, too late to intervene. He was five foot too far away, as he stood by uselessly and watched as Rose was disintegrated into a million individual particles before his very eyes. Something inside of him snapped. He wanted to rage at the universe. Wanted to shout, and kick, and scream, and cry. But he didn't. Entirely numb to the activity around him, he simply fell to his knees before the remains of Rose Tyler._

Peter jolted as the memory finished, remembering how he'd faced down an entire fleet of Daleks just to get her back that time. He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the unnatural thought, confused as the lines between realities blurred once again. What the fuck was a Dalek? He'd never heard the word before, and he'd certainly never let Rose near one. The sudden jarring experience of temporarily losing control of his own mind unsettled Peter and he reached habitually for the liqueur on his countertop. Perhaps if he drank enough he'd wake up to find this was simply another one of his fucked up dreams. And if it that wasn't the case, well perhaps he wouldn't' wake up at all. He wouldn't have to contemplate a world without Rose then, he thought morosely.

Grimly, he grasped the bottle of Midori and brought it to his lips. He'd barely managed two gulps of the burning liquid before the bottle was snatched from his grip.

'What the _hell_ is wrong with you?'

Donna looked entirely unimpressed, but Peter couldn't bring himself to care.

'Use your brain, you stupid cow,' he groused. 'I'm attempting to "drown my sorrows" as they say. So unless you fancy getting so pissed that you'll never remember this god-awful day ever occurred, kindly fuck off!'

CRACK!

The force of the slap was enough to knock Peter to the ground, and as he acquainted himself with the cold floor he realised he probably should have seen it coming. His cheek felt as though it were on fire, and gingerly he prodded the abused tissue, knowing full well that he'd have a spectacular bruise come morning.

He'd certainly deserved that slap, but he couldn't bring himself to apologise to Donna. He needed her to be angry with him because deep down he knew this was his entire fault. He'd let Rose down. He'd let Jerry take her. _She_ couldn't be angry with him, but at least with Donna looking more than ready to tear into him at a moment's notice Peter felt he just might be able to bear his guilt.

A hand entered his vision, and Peter looked up in surprise to find an unimpressed Donna waiting impatiently for him to accept the proffered appendage. Warily, Peter allowed her to pull him to his feet.

'Due to extenuating circumstances,' Donna offered graciously, 'and the fact that you seem to lose your mind the moment you're left alone without Rose, I'm going to forget you ever said that, Peter. But,' she continued seriously, 'if you _ever_ – and I really do mean ever, Spaceman – talk to me like that again, not even disappearing off to Mars will save your skinny little butt. Are we clear?'

Peter frowned, but he nodded anyway even as he opened his mouth to point out the rather obvious flaw in Donna's logic.

'I'm not from Mars.'

'Close enough, Spaceman,' Donna scoffed, her tone holding a warning that just begged him to protest further.

Peter considered arguing the point – where "spaceman" had come from, he couldn't fathom – but he realised he really didn't care what planet Donna thought he'd originated from. Rose would have found it amusing, of that he was certain, but she was conspicuously absent.

_Gone._

There was that terrible word again, and Peter was quite succinctly reminded of the inevitable fact that Rose wasn't coming back. Although he was appalled to realise the distraction of a brief verbal spar with Donna had very effectively pushed all thoughts of Rose from his mind temporarily. His mislaid grief returned in full force then, stabbing at his heart with a viciousness that terrified Peter. He'd known this grief before. It was a grief he'd buried as deeply as he could in the recesses of his mind, locked away from conscious thought because the wound Rose Tyler's loss had caused had never ever healed. And it hurt. It _physically_ hurt him to remember her.

Unbidden his hand drifted of its own accord towards an unguarded liquor bottle. He wanted to get pissed. He _needed_ oblivion because he honestly couldn't cope in his own mind at present. Somehow he'd forgotten something terribly important – something integral to his very existence – and whatever it was, was fighting to return. Reality had gone to hell, no longer the safe haven it had been because Peter's dreams were seeping through. He knew who those thoughts and feelings that were bleeding through belonged to, he _knew_. They were _his_.

And that scared Peter beyond anything he'd ever felt before, because if the Doctor became reality – what the fuck would happen to him?

o0o

The sound of flesh meeting flesh startled Martha from where she was crouched beside Charley. She'd just given the boy his second dose of the rapid acting anti-inflammatory and had been pleased to note that the swelling had subsided significantly in the last half hour. Distantly she'd been aware of Donna's voice in the background as she explained the situation to Peter, but she'd tuned the conversation out in favour of focussing on her own task. The sooner Charley was fixed up, the sooner they could focus on working out how to get Rose back.

Glancing behind her, she was shocked to see Peter sprawled on the floor and nursing an injured cheek. A furious Donna towered over him, her expression stony as she stared down at him. Martha stood immediately, intending to intervene, but when her movement captured Donna's attention and she saw the emotions in the other woman's gaze, she held her ground. Disbelief and anger featured prominently in Donna's stormy blue eyes, but it was the undisguised hurt which held Martha back. Whatever Peter had just done, he'd truly inflicted proper damage this time. Donna had low self-esteem at the best of times, but even Peter knew where to draw the line. Or at least, Martha had thought he had. Clearly, Peter had taken leave of his senses, undoubtedly due in part to the news that Rose had been taken by Jerry.

Martha had no idea what was going on inside the man's head, but attacking Donna was well and truly out of line. Regardless of how worried he was for Rose, nothing excused being deliberately cruel. Rose wouldn't have stood for it, of that Martha was certain. Donna clearly hadn't let it pass unchecked if the bruise forming on Peter's cheek was anything to go by, and as far as Martha was concerned, it was yet another grievance she had with the man. He certainly wasn't ingratiating himself with her this evening.

Not only had he left Rose to deal with Jerry by herself, but he'd almost gone and killed himself with the amount of alcohol he'd ingested. Her anger towards him, which had cooled significantly whilst she'd been tending to Charley, had reheated with alarming rapidity as she witnessed his treatment of Donna. Truly, Martha had intended to have a clear head when she broached the topic of the fob watch with Peter – she remembered exactly how well that particular revelation had gone down with John Smith – but she found herself unable to keep her anger out of the equation now. There wasn't enough time to wait either. They needed the Doctor and they needed him _now_.

With that thought in mind, Martha stormed over to confront Peter.

o0o

Donna's opinion was conflicted as she stared down at the crumpled form of Peter Vincent. On one hand a very large part of her conscience was currently of the opinion that Peter was a complete and utter twat, who quite definitely did not deserve her forgiveness. She was finding it rather difficult to ignore this particular thought process because she could still recall with perfect clarity the ease with which Peter had called her a "stupid cow". Donna wished she was a more resilient being, but she couldn't quite bring herself to let go of the hurt the words had caused her. It was one thing to have a stranger making derogatory comments, but it was an entirely different matter when the person who'd insulted her claimed he was her best friend.

On the other hand though, a much smaller part of Donna's conscience was valiantly attempting to convince her that judging Peter's character whilst he was so clearly out of sorts was unwise, and in fact really rather uncharitable of her. After all, what sort of best friend would she be if she allowed Peter to push her away? Because that was the root of the matter really, and unfortunately Donna knew it as well.

He was hurting, badly.

She'd just told him that Jerry had taken Rose, and had in fact witnessed him systematically shutting down as he'd processed her words. And in typical Peter fashion, he was pushing away anyone who might be able to help him – something she suspected the Doctor was equally as good at doing. For some reason, he thought he had to bear every burden alone. And so for that reason alone, Donna extended her hand to help him up.

She was still mad, in fact Peter was very much on thin ice with her for the time being, but for the moment that small insistent voice in the back of her mind had won out. That didn't stop her from ensuring Peter understood that she wouldn't tolerate a repeat performance though.

Surprisingly he let her Mars comment go. In fact, now that he was back seated at the countertop, Donna had the opportunity to look at him more closely.

He looked terrible.

Already a bruise was forming across his left cheekbone, discolouring the tissue enough for Donna to feel a small twinge of guilt. She didn't recall putting that much force behind the blow, but obviously she had. Aside from the physical bruising though, there was a weariness and confusion about him that scared Donna. He looked like a man who'd lost touch with reality. A man who was struggling to stay afloat, but hadn't realised he'd well and truly drowned already.

He looked so confused and it reminded Donna strongly of Peter's reactions towards his dreams. Since Rose had arrived, Peter had been less inclined to talk with Donna about his dreams, but she remembered well the confusion and conflict the dreams had caused him. The Doctor had never intruded upon Peter's conscious mind before, but Donna began to wonder whether the news about Rose had stirred the Time Lord's consciousness into wakefulness. She'd seen the Doctor after he'd lost Rose and he'd been all over the place. Donna didn't have to look long at Peter to see that his state of mind was similarly conflicted.

That particular realisation did nothing to ease her guilt over the mottled colouring of Peter's cheek. Biting her thumbnail, Donna was about to get Peter some ice for his cheek when Martha grasped her by the elbow.

'You alright?' she murmured, her brow creased with concern as she gave Donna a thorough once over.

It took Donna a moment to recall that Martha had seen her slap Peter, and had obviously come over to check on her. She nodded cautiously, attempting to dismiss Martha's concerns because she could see that the younger woman seemed rather incensed. Martha didn't seem to notice though. Satisfied that Donna was well, her attention had turned to Peter.

The other woman's eyes narrowed perceptively, and Donna – following her gaze – found herself frowning as well, as she caught sight of Peter eyeing up yet another of his liquor bottles. Any lingering feelings of guilt dispersed rapidly, as Donna crossed her arms in disapproval. He clearly hadn't listened to a single thing she'd said since he'd woken up! It was Martha who spoke up though, her tone frosty with frustration and disbelief.

'A word to the wise, Peter,' she snapped sarcastically. 'The medication I gave you has a particularly long half life, which means no matter how much you drink, you'll be staying stone cold sober for the next 48 hours at least.'

The only outward sign that Peter had heard her was the discolouration of his knuckles as he tightened his grip on the Midori bottle. He was clutching the bottle as though it was a lifeline, although he did not attempt to drink from it. After a moment he relinquished the bottle, speaking for the first time in minutes.

'What do you want from me?' he asked resignedly.

If Martha was surprised by the lack of open hostility she said nothing, instead capitalising on Peter's apparent co-operation.

'Sobriety,' she answered simply. 'We need you sober if we're going to get Rose back.'

Peter made a noise at the back of his throat, somewhere between a humourless laugh and a strangled sob.

'Get her back?' he repeated incredulously. 'Martha, Rose is _gone_.'

He said it with such candour, as though Martha was the one being slow, that Donna couldn't hold back a sarcastic retort.

'And here I thought you'd not been paying attention.'

That got his attention quick smart. In fact, Donna had to suppress the urge to flinch as Peter's gaze bored into her own, something ancient and terrifying fighting for dominance within the depths of the confused brown eyes.

'Rose isn't coming back. She's gone. Trapped in a parallel world, forever.'

He sounded so devastated that it took Donna a moment to process what Peter had said. A glance towards Martha, confirmed that her companion was equally surprised and moved by the grief-filled declaration.

'Parallel world?' Martha repeated confusedly, her anger temporarily evaporating in the face of such an incongruous comment from Peter.

For a moment Donna thought for sure that the Doctor had come back, for Peter's expression had morphed into the self-assured facade that irrefutably heralded a long-winded explanation from the Time Lord on exactly why he was right and you were wrong. Her misconception lasted less than a second though as Peter's incredulous, irritated, and rather bewildered expression took centre stage.

'Parallel worlds?' he scoffed, one of his eyebrows lost somewhere within his fringe as he frowned at them. 'Fuck off! What the fuck does that have to do with anything?'

'Don't you get stroppy with me,' Martha snapped, sounding more than a little affronted. 'You're the one who said it.'

'No, I didn't,' he denied immediately, his tone revealing his confusion. 'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

Martha clearly believed otherwise.

'So if Rose isn't trapped in a parallel world,' she muttered sardonically, 'just where do you think she's gone?'

Peter stiffened, turning his back on the two women as he let his head drop into his hands in defeat.

'Isn't it obvious?' he mumbled dejectedly. '_He's_ killed her.'

Donna shared a surprised look with Martha. Was that truly what Peter thought? Nobody had said anything about Rose _dying_, but if Peter had somehow gotten that idea into his head – well it certainly went someway to explaining his behaviour, Donna thought dryly. Gently, she reached out for Peter's shoulder. She could feel how tightly wound he was, but when he didn't shake her hand off, Donna gave his shoulder a small comforting squeeze before addressing him.

'Rose isn't dead, Peter,' she promised surely. 'Jerry took her as a hostage. He won't harm her before the deadline's reached.'

The words which she had intended to calm Peter seemed to have the opposite effect. He shook her hand away, bursting out of his seat with sudden energy, to stand towering before her – a pillar of anger and grief.

'_Won't_ _harm_ _her!_?' he spluttered in disbelief, spittle flying. 'What _fucking_ planet are you living on!? You've no fucking clue, the pair of you,' he accused hysterically. 'Look at you, standing there as though you've some kind of _authority_ over me. As if you've some kind of _right_ to judge me. Well, who the _fuck_ do you think you are?'

His hands were pulling wildly at his hair as he paced agitatedly before them, unable to stop talking now that he'd started. The pent up frustration and anxiety seemingly unhinging him further.

'Did you miss the part where we established that Jerry's a fucking _vampire_?' he taunted scathingly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 'Or maybe you missed the bit where he _murdered_ Francesca? Ripped her throat out and left her for dead on a footpath? Is this ringing any bells, or are we still not on the same page? Hmm?'

He didn't even pause for breath, hurtling onwards at a million miles an hour so that Martha and Donna were forced to simply listen as he continued to rage at them.

'Because I haven't forgotten,' he declared hoarsely, his voice breaking as his control over his emotions slipped. 'I can't get those images of her..._lying_ there...with her throat in bits around her...I can't get that out of my head,' he admitted, tapping the side of his head as though he might dislodge the images if he was lucky as he struggled to find the right words.

'And I _never_ will,' he assured them. 'They'll just stay there...next to the images of my parents lying in their own blood. _His_ insignia drawn over their bodies, so I'd never forget.'

Peter broke off, scoffing as he wiped away the few treacherous tears that had broken lose without his permission.

'So don't you stand there and tell me that Rose will be alright,' he finished mirthlessly. 'Don't you _fucking_ dare. Rose is _dead_. The sooner you accept that and leave me alone, the better for all of us.'

Peter's declaration was met with stunned silence. Seemingly satisfied that he'd earned a respite, Donna watched in disbelief as Peter opened the closest bottle of Midori and raised it to his lips without hesitation. Surprisingly, Martha made no move to stop him, apparently assured that Peter would retain the full function of his faculties, regardless. Peter had drunk almost a third of the bottle when Martha finally broke her silence.

'You complete and utter _bastard_,' she said slowly, her words laced with disdain.

'Martha?' Donna warned quietly. She certainly had her own grievances with Peter but she wasn't about to take them up with him whilst he was labouring under the misapprehension that Rose was dead. Donna knew exactly how irrational the Doctor could be when it came to Rose Tyler.

Martha waved away her concern though, her attention focussed entirely on Peter. Her insult had apparently caught the man off guard, and he was staring at Martha as though he was seeing her in a completely different light.

'You _don't_ get to do this to me again,' Martha continued furiously, jabbing angrily at Peter's chest. 'You don't get to hide behind your ignorance until I'm forced to make the difficult decisions for you. That's not fair. Not when you'd rather run and hide yourself away, than admit to a friend that you just might need help. Well, I'm sorry, Peter, but I've reached my limit. I won't let Rose die because you settled on a pessimistic human persona. So, I'll make it simple,' she finished pointedly. 'Where is the fob watch?'

Peter stilled, caught off guard by Martha's words. Donna was surprised by the response, having expected a sharp retort immediately. But as she met Peter's gaze, she realised something about Martha's words had given him pause. Peter couldn't quite dismiss her comments, and that thought seemed to terrify him.

'What's she talking about, Donna?'

He spoke slowly and carefully, his voice breaking as he attempted to hide his fear. The way he looked at her, Donna knew he was desperately hoping that she would tell him Martha was joking. That she'd tell him it wasn't what he thought it was, and that everything would be alright. Donna wished she could, but she couldn't lie to him. Not about this; not anymore.

'I think you know, Peter,' she murmured gently.

He shook his head in denial, his eyes burning with betrayal as he refused to believe what he was hearing. He forced himself to stand upright, even as her answer seemed to physically cripple him. Donna reached out for him, wanting to provide comfort, but he shied away from her – putting a stool and several foot between them.

Donna bit her lip, hating that she was hurting him.

'I'm sorry, Peter,' she said solemnly, 'but we need your help. For Rose's sake.'

He stared at her for several seconds, his features completely blank before he deliberately turned away from her, dismissing her callously in favour of staring down Martha.

'What did you mean by "human persona"?'

His tone was cold and business-like, entirely devoid of emotion. If Martha found it confronting she chose to ignore it, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest.

'Did you _really_ think the Doctor was just a story?' she asked scathingly.

'What are you saying?' Peter growled, his anger reappearing.

'You know _exactly_ what I'm saying, _Doctor_.'

The deliberately cruel barb had its desired effect. It tore away the carefully constructed facade that Peter had walled himself behind, revealing a confused and terrified man who couldn't understand what he was hearing.

'I'm not _him_,' he denied vehemently, sounding as though he were on the cusp of breaking down. 'I'm _not_. I'm Peter Vincent. I'm not some fucking Time Lord. I'm _human_.'

He was begging them to believe him.

Martha watched on, stonily. The slight diversion of her gaze to a point two feet above Peter's head the only indication that she was affected by his words. Donna had to remind herself that Martha wasn't ignoring him on purpose. She was simply trying to protect herself because she'd already had to do this once before. Martha had been required to destroy John Smith's life – and it had nearly broken her. Donna couldn't blame her for needing distance this time; for ignoring Peter's desperate plea.

She just wished she could too.

Donna wanted nothing more than to take back the last week – to pretend that Jerry had never come into their lives – and that Peter was simply _Peter_. But that was impossible. People had died now, and Rose's life was on the line. The time for ignorance was gone. How Martha had ever had the strength to have this conversation with John Smith, Donna had no idea. How did you tell your best friend that he wasn't who he thought he was?

'I'm so sorry, Peter,' she answered shakily, wishing she was capable of holding her tears back, 'but you're not human.'

'How can you say that?' he demanded, his own tears falling unchecked as he turned to her in desperation. 'How can you pretend I'm not _me_? I've known you since you were five, Donna! We grew up together. We went to school together. For fuck's sake, you saved my bloody life! How can say that's not real?'

'Because it's not,' Donna answered simply. 'I'm sorry, but I met you a year ago. I knew you for a few hours before you disappeared off into that box of yours. We certainly didn't grow up together and I definitely didn't go to the Academy, Peter. I went to the local comprehensive in Chiswick. And I'm sorry, but you aren't human. You told me so the first time I met you.'

'Three months,' Peter accused, his shock turning to anger. 'You've been here three months and you've what, just been _pretending_? Thought it might be fun to fuck with my _life_, did you?'

'That's not...we haven't...'

Donna struggled to come up with an answer, which only seemed to anger Peter further.

'Save it, Donna,' he cut across her cruelly. 'I don't want to hear your excuses. There's one thing I want to know – one thing – and then I want the pair of you out of my life. If I ever see either of you again, it will be too fucking soon.'

'You _can't_ do that!' Martha exclaimed, sounding incredibly frustrated as she broke her silence. 'God, you're exactly the same as John was,' she continued sadly, running her hands down her face in a gesture of weariness. 'I don't for a second, imagine that this isn't terrifying for you, but you can't ignore who you are forever, Peter. You changed for a reason – because you needed space, or time, or I don't know – but it's time to come back now, Doctor. People have _died_ and _you_ wouldn't stand for that.

'I _know_ you wouldn't,' she continued imploringly. '_Donna_ knows you wouldn't...and so does _Rose_. And I think, deep down, _you_ know that as well. So I'm begging you, Peter,' Martha finished tiredly. 'If you have _any_ idea where you've put the fob watch – we _need_ to know.'

Peter stared at her incredulously.

'Fuck you, Martha,' he swore. 'Fuck you, both.'

Any compassion Martha might have had for the struggling man disappeared in a flash, locked away behind a stony facade. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to slap the living daylights out of Peter, but she refrained from hitting him in favour of addressing Donna.

'We're wasting our time here,' she said frostily. 'Peter's a lost cause. Let's go.'

Silently, Donna agreed. As reluctant as she was to leave things the way they were with Peter, she knew that they were wasting precious time. Rose still needed saving. They were almost at the door when Martha – having already requested that Amy and Charley kindly keep an eye on Peter – turned back.

'That one thing you wanted to know,' she asked him coolly, curious despite herself. 'What was it?'

Peter looked surprised, and his anger seemed to melt away at the question. For a moment Donna thought he was going to ignore the question, but finally he spoke up.

'Who does Rose think I am?'

Martha's hostility evaporated in the space of seconds, unable to be maintained in the face of such uncertainty and vulnerability. Her shoulders slumped slightly and Donna knew the fight had gone out of her. Neither of them had wanted to hurt Peter, but time had run out and they couldn't give him the answers he wanted. The silence stretched uncomfortably for a few more seconds before Martha finally spoke up, her gaze full of pity.

'I think you're asking the wrong person, Peter,' she said simply.

Turning away, they left the anguished man alone.


End file.
